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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28809159">7empest</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcelWorldsmith/pseuds/MarcelWorldsmith'>MarcelWorldsmith</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1920's AU, Age Difference, Alcohol, Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Appears Unrequited Because, Art, Attempted Murder, Begging, Blood and Violence, Bodyguard AU, Bonding, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Boxing &amp; Fisticuffs, Cannibalism, Dante - Freeform, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fanart, Fancy Event, Feelings, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal takes what isn't his, Historical Accuracy, Historical Inaccuracy, Hospitals, Hypocrisy, Idiots in Love, Inspired by Music, Jealousy, Knotting, Light Dom/sub, Lykaia, Mafia AU, Marriage Proposal, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medical Procedures, Mental Asylum, Minor Character Death, Multi, Murder, Murder-Suicide, Mythology - Freeform, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Non-con drug use (not mains), Omega Will Graham, On Screen Character Death, Outdoor Sex, Post WW1, Power Bottom Will Graham, Pregnancy (not mains), Progressive rock/metal, Prohibition AU, Religious Imagery &amp; Symbolism, Requited Love, Resolved Sexual Tension, Scenting, Sexism, Slow Burn, Soen, Song Lyrics, Sub Hannibal Lecter, Superstition, Tarot, Tool - Freeform, Top Hannibal Lecter, Top Will Graham, Unwanted Advances, Various forms of Criminality, Will Finds Out, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham's explosive temper, Will Graham's murder book club, elaborate murder, hannibal fucks up, miscarriage (not mains), misuse of:, omegas are a separate gender, other relationships strictly business, sex near a corpse, song titles, sugar daddy Will Graham, the following tags are spoilers:, unsuspecting sugar baby Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:07:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>43,691</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28809159</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcelWorldsmith/pseuds/MarcelWorldsmith</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“In the founding myth of the Lykaia, the king of Arcadia holds a feast for the gods, but he attempts to test Zeus’s omniscience by including human flesh in the feast, probably that of his own son. Zeus struck his house with a thunderbolt as punishment, ending his line. The festival it birthed celebrated the rite of passage from youth into manhood. Sacrifices were made to Zeus at nighttime towards the end of May, a single morsel of human flesh intermingled with that of the sacrificial animal, and whoever ate it was said to transform into a wolf for nine years."<br/>**<br/>In trouble with the police, Will Graham is tasked with finding himself a bodyguard, but Will isn't as vulnerable as he seems. By following Jack Crawford's command, Will unknowingly invites a presence into his house that draws out new passions as well as old savageries. In between delicate underground transactions and attacks on his pack runs a river of blood, starting between Will's own fangs, and the one adversary aiming to bury Will for good.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Alana Bloom/Mason Verger, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Margot Verger</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fandom Trumps Hate 2020, MHBB2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Opponent</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Each chapter is based on a song, but this is progressive metal and some of these songs are long (7empest alone is 15 minutes). The lyrics from Soen are also quite cryptic but still beautiful. The titular song's lyrics encompass nearly the entire fic. I do feel that they contribute to the story, but it isn't necessary to read them. Plus, not everyone likes metal, so skip to ** if you'd prefer not to read the lyrics.<br/>Thank you very much to my beta, <a>Foxish</a><br/>And thank you to kishafisha for your <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28931154">wonderful art!</a><br/></p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“So you’d like me to be your mediator, in addition to being your protection?”</p><p>“Straight to the point, aren't you?” Will can feel the corners of his lips tilting up.</p><p>“I think you appreciate directness over flattery.”</p><p>“Hmm, you’d be right. You sound like you could be one of those head doctors,” Will drags a hand through his hair, “Well, in that spirit, I’m going to be direct and say I can’t promise much besides paying you and asking you to keep secrets. Hell, I don’t even know how long I’m gonna need you for. That is, if you’re interested at all?”</p><p>“Oh I am, very much.”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>Quiet rest, with a rope around my neck<br/>
I assure you that the time is coming near<br/>
Fight them all, break the spirit and the bone<br/>
All I care for is what’s happening to me</p>
  <p>Pushed away and rejected from first day<br/>
Never felt that I am like everyone else<br/>
Architects of my intellect and flesh<br/>
Always pressured me towards the common frame</p>
  <p>So now, chuck it down your throat</p>
  <p>See me stand<br/>
Among the waves<br/>
The slaying hand</p>
  <p>Still I am<br/>
The dream and fall<br/>
A hateful grace</p>
  <p>Growing darkness war within<br/>
Emptiness<br/>
Shadows alter my reflection<br/>
Desolation marks my skin<br/>
Loneliness<br/>
Visions alter my perception</p>
  <p>In Isolation, I slowly drown<br/>
Vague destination<br/>
For words I shout</p>
  <p>Victimized by my equals all my life<br/>
Consequently rival of the obedient mass<br/>
Parody, be submissive to act free<br/>
Be what dividend is telling you to be</p>
  <p>Mockery of the essence of our kind<br/>
In the mirror you see nothing but a farce</p>
  <p>Linger on, aiming far but ending close<br/>
Bearing excess as an instinct not a choice</p>
  <p>Desire, downfall<br/>
Possessed by greed and numbers<br/>
The more we want it all<br/>
The worse we treat each other</p>
</div><div>
  <p>-Opponent-Soen</p>
</div><p>**</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>In the top drawer of the desk in his office, Will keeps a treasured leather bound notebook, next to a pack of well-worn tarot cards. Made from antique oak, dark and heavy, his desk matches the Colonial revival mansion and large wooded estate it sits in.</p><p>The deck of cards is kept out of a sense of sentimentality, no longer to be drawn in Celtic crosses to divine Will’s fortune.</p><p>The notebook is old, the cover creased, pages littered with names. Those that are crossed off are now bereft of life, although Will has not personally seen to the deadening of a name in a few years. Every day, he yearns to return to it. </p><p>No, the privilege of taking a name out from the book is now given to whomever amongst Will’s strays seems to need it most.</p><p>They are killers, his strays. His underbosses. All of them having been painstakingly collected and added to his pack. In his pack, they have a purpose, and they have rules. Broken rules are met with punishment. Which is exactly why Will sank his teeth into the base of Abel Gideon’s neck mere seconds after ripping out Clark Ingram’s throat – two unforgivable lapses in control, one following after another, they could almost be counted as one.</p><p>Afterwards, Will shoved the dazed alpha into his car and hissed, “Get your ass back to the house. I’ll deal with this.” Gideon should have been watching his back instead of cracking jokes and letting Ingram slip by him. </p><p>Ingram did not deserve to join Will’s pack. There was no artistry in the barbaric butchering of innocents and torment of the vulnerable in a simplistic attempt to feel powerful.  His name hadn’t even made it into his notebook by the time he was killed. Will is more affronted about that than the fact he’s been waiting nigh on three hours in Jack Crawford’s otherwise empty office: a knife wound to his shoulder and blood slowly drying on his face.</p><p>Jack had all but dragged him through the precinct, past every officer and pencil pusher currently on duty, only to press Will into a chair and then disappear. He can still feel their eyes on him through the walls of Jack’s office. Lecherous alphas, the whole lot of them.</p><p>The office burns his nose with the prevailing stench of cigarettes and alpha that Will has come to associate with government buildings. He sucks the last of the blood off his teeth when Jack barges in, only the way an alpha could, loud and demanding instantaneous attention</p><p>“Will! There you are.”</p><p>“Could at least let me get the blood off my face, Jack,” It had stretched his skin uncomfortably as it dried, but Will made no move to get rid of it.</p><p>Jack is caught unawares at the comment, his face betraying worry, and then shock as he takes in Will’s appearance from behind his desk. Will blinks back at him,skin stained a rust red from just below his nose to the collar of the clean shirt someone had given him. </p><p>They stare at one another, and eventually Jack drops his eyes.</p><p>“How long are you going to keep me here?”</p><p>“As long as I need to. You did kill a man.” <em>With your teeth</em> going unsaid.</p><p>“He put a knife in my shoulder,” Will shifts the injured limb, relishing the sting. “I’d say he had it coming.”</p><p>“So that’s it? You’re walking down the street, someone comes up to you and sticks a knife in you so you bite his throat out? The same someone who also happens to be the culprit we're looking at for committing multiple murders?”</p><p>Will gives him a blank look, “I guess.”</p><p>“You guess,” Jack purses his lips, “Look, I know Clark Ingram was a reprehensible human being, but that doesn’t justify you murdering him.”</p><p>“I didn’t murder him, Jack, it was self defense.” </p><p>“Oh, don’t you start. You of all people know the difference, and you of all people should have been able to stop this from escalating.”</p><p>“Because I know how to fight?” Will asks cryptically. </p><p>“Because you almost joined the force,” Jack barks, “You have the training!”</p><p>“It was self defense, Jack,” Will speaks in an even tone, “and that’s what you’re going to put on record because you don’t want me to go to prison.”</p><p>Jack grinds his teeth. “And why don’t I want that?”</p><p>“Because otherwise you can’t use me.”</p><p>Jack gives a humorless little chuckle, “You know, I’m starting to see your pattern, Will,” he murmurs.</p><p>“Are you now.”</p><p>“Don’t play coy,” Jack jabs a finger at him from across the desk, “Every time you get involved with one of these cases, the murders magically seem to stop. Only this time, you stopped them rather publicly.”</p><p>“Are you accusing me of something? Other than what you’ve already accused me of.” </p><p>Jack huffs, slumping backwards in his seat. He rubs absently at his mouth, staring down at the cluttered space of his desk. Will remembers the way the large alpha had tried intimidating him during one of his first crime scene consultations. Will didn’t so much as bat an eye at Jack’s snarl. Then Jack had growled at him, and Will had given him a look so venomous, the detective had never tried something so underhanded again.</p><p>“I'm not fond of your methods, Will, but in this case I can't help but be grateful for them. Ingram would have walked, we had no evidence,” Jack laces his fingers together on the desk, making an effort to appear diplomatic, “I am going to let you go, but on one condition.”</p><p>Will knows he’s not going to like this.</p><p>“You get someone to watch your back, this can't happen again.”</p><p>“You want me to get a bodyguard?” Will says slowly, incredulous. “I can defend myself-”</p><p>“Like you did today? Don't answer that,” Jack growls. “The police department cannot be seen letting a vulnerable omega go without protection after being publicly attacked!” Will recognizes the bureaucratic undertone so uncharacteristic of Jack and understanding dawns. “Now, I can give you one of my men-”</p><p>“No-”</p><p>“Will -”</p><p>“No Jack. A cop following me around will tank my business. I'm small time, I won't recover from it,” Will lies smoothly.</p><p>Jack eyes Will like he’s a particularly garish houseplant, “I know people in private security-”</p><p>“I am in private security-”</p><p>“As a racketeer! Dammit Will, I’m trying to help you!” Jack looks like he’s spent the last hour attempting to reason with a toddler. “You’re right, I can’t use you in prison. I can spin this situation as self defense, just this once, but I won’t do it unless you work with me.”</p><p>Will doesn’t glare, but it’s a near thing, “I never thought you'd graduate to extortion, Jack.”</p><p>Jack throws his hands in the air, exclaiming, “I would love to get around this another way, but we can't. This is out of my hands, Will, orders from above.”</p><p>He makes it sound as though this was the will of God himself, and it serves to only vex Will further, knowing he has no choice with the present circumstances being as they are.</p><p>Jack can only go as far as the leash around his neck permits, whilst the dog’s real master remains hidden in the shadows, and Will can’t bite who he cannot see.</p><p>This might turn out to be an opportunity for Will to kill two birds with one stone.</p><p>“Fine, but I’m not using a cop.”</p><p>“Hallelujah.”</p><p>“And since we're negotiating so well, I'd like to talk about my work for the police department.”</p><p>“Oh don’t give me that. You and I both know you have your own agenda by helping us solve murders.”</p><p>“Do you have any idea what looking at your cases does to me?” Will snaps out, “You don’t even pay me. What do you think I get out of looking at all that carnage?”</p><p>Jack’s silence only serves to drag out the tension between the two of them.</p><p>Will rarely gets anything other than a headache from looking at Jack’s cases these days, the murders terribly uninspired, the foreign violence, petulance and disregard for innocence building up into a pulsating tumor behind his eyes.</p><p>“I used to think that you got into this as a way to help people, save lives, after the police force wouldn’t take you…  but now I’m not going to pretend to know why you keep helping us,” Jack sighs, resigned. “Margaret can give you a list of reputable private security,” he nods to the door, where his secretary sits dutifully typing, a blatantly dismissive gesture. </p><p>Will gets up, using a white handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the gore from his mouth and neck. It flakes off in little bits, like red snow. He thinks of an earlier time : when he worked alone in crossing names out of his book. It had afforded him an effective way to let off steam without putting his freedom in danger. </p><p>He grabs his coat and hat from the stand in the corner, shoving the now stained red square of fabric into his pocket. Will wrenches open the door, smiles at Margaret and doesn't bother asking her for the list.</p><p>“Is there a phone I can use?” he inquires instead, throwing his coat around his shoulders without slipping his arms through the sleeves, careful not to open up his stab wound.</p><p>“There's a public phone just around the corner, sweetie.”</p><p>The usual bustle of the station quiets down as he heads toward the phone: Jack's murder suspect has been set free, but he pays his spectators no mind. </p><p>He leans against the wall, back to the busy main lobby and begins hatching the bare bones of a plan. The noise level picks up quickly once everyone realizes Will isn’t about to do something spectacular, like spontaneously combust.</p><p>Will unhooks the receiver and dials a number from memory. </p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>“Hello Alana.”</p><p>“Will! It's good to hear from you.”</p><p>“Do you remember our conversation about my crippling loneliness?” Will asks, feigning sheepishness as he hunches over the phone.</p><p>Alana gives a breathy laugh, “Oh it was hardly that. You’re just a bit rusty, it’ll come to you.”</p><p>“Yeah, I do try,” he murmurs, “You mentioned a name back then, someone good at socializing,” Will pauses, pursing his lips, “You also mentioned he’s looking for a job.”</p><p>“What’s going on, Will?” He’s not surprised at her concern, she is a very perceptive woman.</p><p>Will glances around to make sure he’s not being overheard, “I might be in some trouble. Jack Crawford wants me to get personal protection.”</p><p>“Oh, Will-”</p><p>“It's not as bad as it sounds, but...you know I can't stand these posturing assholes. I thought you might know someone who's less…”</p><p>“Overbearing Alpha?”</p><p>“Yeah. Exactly.”</p><p>“Tell you what, I'll call him and tell him where to meet you. He's been eager to since I mentioned you.”</p><p>“Alana-”</p><p>“He's different Will, you'll like him, I promise. He’s way too well-mannered to act so boorishly,” she sounds so desperately sincere that Will can't help but hope she's right. </p><p>“Yeah, okay. Tonight, the Black Stag.” Better to get the painful meeting out of the way.</p><p>Alana’s silence conveys her hesitation at his suggestion.</p><p>“What? I've had the place cleaned up. It's not so bad.”</p><p>“If you say so,” she sounds doubtful, ”I'll let him know.”</p><p>Will hangs up, makes another call and then waits outside the station for his car. </p><p>When the car finally arrives, driven by a near frantic Peter, the weak winter sun was just about set and the wind had started picking up in earnest. Will pulls his coat tighter around him, grateful for the cold suppressing his scent, along with everyone else’s, and climbs into the passenger side. </p><p>“Are you alright?” Peter asks, eyes wide. </p><p>Will nods and doesn't mention the stabbing; Peter’s guilt is already coming off him in waves, Will sees no reason to add to it. </p><p>“We need to get to the Stag.”</p><p>They drive through Baltimore in silence, heading towards the bad side of town, snowmelt and slush clinging to the sides of the car where the wheels throw it up like sweat on a shivering racehorse. Will gazes out the window and hopes Alana’s friend lives up to expectations.</p><p>The car stops across from a dark stand of buildings, their doorways and windows spilling sulphurous light onto the pavement, shadows cutting through as people move in and out of their usual haunts. </p><p>“Do you regret it?” Peter asks softly, pulling Will from his reverie. </p><p>“What?” </p><p>“Killing him, d-do you regret it?”</p><p>“No. Maybe I regret doing it in public, but I'm glad he's dead,” Will doesn’t lie. He’d enjoyed killing Ingram, wishes he could have done it properly, but it being his only taste of blood in years, he’ll take what he got. And now he’s got Peter too.</p><p>“Y-you shouldn't have had to. If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have had to-”</p><p>“Peter, look at me,” Will says gently, waiting until the beta meets his eyes, “What he did was not your fault, understand? He was scum, he was going to hurt you even more than he already has. I would do it all again if given the choice, so no more worrying, alright?”</p><p>“A-alright.”</p><p>Will glares across the street, watching the comings and goings of patrons from the speakeasy. He doesn't quite know what he’s looking for, but he knows just from what Alana said that the man would stand out on this side of the tracks. </p><p>“Are we meeting someone?” Peter asks tentatively.</p><p>“Yeah, how do I look?” Will flashes him a grin.</p><p>“Underdressed. Where’s your tie?” </p><p>“It unfortunately didn’t survive today,” he says ruefully, “It doesn’t matter, I’m not meeting a client.”</p><p>Peter squints at him, and Will ignores him in favor of watching a man lope far too comfortably across the street. No one else out here would walk with such careless confidence, upright and regal, marking them as an outsider and therefore easy to rob. Will is almost tempted to watch it happen, his very own demonstration of the man’s skills, if he’d deescalate the situation or elevate it to violence.</p><p>“That him?”</p><p>“I think so.”</p><p>Peter squints again, “You think? Will-”</p><p>Will climbs out of the car, pulling his hat over down against the wind as he crosses the street. He feels a twinge of guilt at leaving Peter to worry without an explanation, again, but it’s quickly forgotten in the grey smoke and noise of The Black Stag.</p><p>The bar lives up to its name, dark wood and dark walls peeking out from between the bodies of those jostling for a drink. Will sees the bartender give him a once over, and the alpha slouching next to the door with a gun at his side stares hard into the back of his head. Good, it wouldn’t do for just anyone to waltz in where alcohol is being so blatantly thrown around, prohibition being what it is.</p><p>Will’s target is casually watching the room in the mirror behind the bar in the guise of waiting his turn to order, no doubt trying to find Will. Will passes by him, careful not to touch, but not so careful that the alpha does not feel someone attempting to scent him. The distance is too great for Will to catch more than a whiff, but the intent is there, raising hairs on the man’s neck. He heads to one of the rickety tables and sits, back to the wall, gaining a few choice looks from the tables around him as he shrugs his coat off his shoulders.</p><p>Will knows it's rude, scenting someone he has never spoken to, in a public space. Scenting a stranger as an indicator of intent - to fight or to court - hasn’t been practiced in decades.</p><p>But then again, Will feels only so much for social convention. </p><p>Will places his hat on the table and looks up, letting his eyes flash silver as they meet the alpha’s. The man tilts his head subtly, the action akin to that of a curious predator. He certainly moves like one, gliding from the bar to take the chair directly in front of Will. </p><p>“Mr. Graham, I presume?”</p><p>“Mr. Lecter,” Will catalogues the man as he sits, “Beer or whiskey?”</p><p>“The sale and consumption of alcohol is illegal.”</p><p>“Do you see any cops around?”</p><p>A beat of silence, and then “Wine, if they have it.”</p><p>“Whiskey it is,” Will signals the barman. Alana said he was well-mannered, but it seems that was just her polite way of saying snobbish. Lecter is slightly younger than Will imagined, his cloth of middling quality. He has a strange face, all sharp cheekbones and broad lips but it’s his eyes that catch Will, dark and red and so very very deep. He is undoubtedly powerful, thick muscle and broad shoulders characteristic of an alpha nearly in his prime. He’s sitting too far for Will to discern his warming scent from between the smoke and clamor of everyone else.</p><p>“Did you have a difficult day?” His tone is surprisingly flat, but his voice is warm and dark.</p><p>“What makes you say that?” Will tilts his head, coy. He knows the picture he makes with his soft omegan skin and his tousled curls on top of his boyish face, not above using it to his advantage, but he prefers being his honest, skeptical and coarse self.</p><p>“You smell like blood.”</p><p>Will looks down at his shirt, finding clean white cotton where earlier today there had been rich red stains. His stab wound hadn’t reopened. The man has a nose on him. “Not my blood. You should see the other guy.”</p><p>Their drinks arrive, two chipped glass tumblers with a small amount each. Will takes a glass and finishes it in several sips. </p><p>“That is why you had Alana call me, yes?”</p><p>“Yeah. I figured if someone could get to me in broad daylight like that, I should get some extra security.”</p><p>“Implying your existing security is lacking,” Lecter pushes his untouched drink across the table. Will slings it into the back of his throat, knowing the movement exposes the line of his neck and not caring.</p><p>“Lacking in discipline, perhaps,” Will sucks the burn of whiskey from his bottom lip. The alpha remains placid. “Alana told me you are a very focused man, capable of compartmentalizing.”</p><p>Lecter dips his head in affirmation, “I was a field medic during the war, I had to focus.”</p><p>“Alana also said you’re good with people.”</p><p>“Asking after my bedside manner?”</p><p>“I am,” Will tries his best to look earnest, “Look, I’m an asshole at the best of times and that’s bad for business.” Not just an asshole, but nearly a hermit too, and it shows whenever he’s pressed to interact with others for a significant amount of time.</p><p>“I can’t see how you’d act otherwise, with the way I suspect they treat you. Forgive me for being so bold, but they see you as a fragile little teacup, don’t they?”</p><p>Will rears back slightly, narrowing his eyes at the man in front of him. </p><p>“So you’d like me to be your mediator, in addition to being your protection?”</p><p>“Straight to the point, aren't you?” Will can feel the corners of his lips tilting up.</p><p>“I think you appreciate directness over flattery.”</p><p>“Hmm, you’d be right. You sound like you could be one of those head doctors,” Will drags a hand through his hair, “Well, in that spirit, I’m going to be direct and say I can’t promise much besides paying you and asking you to keep secrets. Hell, I don’t even know how long I’m gonna need you for. That is, if you’re interested at all?”</p><p>“Oh I am, very much,” the alpha’s eyes glint in the low light, “And please, call me Hannibal.”</p><p>“Will,” he extends a hand, and Hannibal takes it, grip warm and firm as he shakes it once before letting go. He resists the urge to sniff at his palm. “How do you see me, Hannibal, if not a teacup?”</p><p>“I doubt you are so fragile, Will, no. I see you as the mongoose I want under the house, when the snakes slither by.”</p><p>Will smiles for the first time all day, not bothering to hide his fangs, on par with those of an alpha. “When can you start?”</p><p>“As soon as you’d like me to,” Hannibal’s face is full of mirth, mirroring Will’s own.</p><p>Will gives him an address, tells him to be there in the morning for a contract negotiation. They part ways out in the cold. </p><p>Peter drives Will to the house on the outskirts of the city, horse stables to one side and a large greenhouse to the other. A number of Will’s pack are gathered around and just beyond the foyer, acting nonchalant. He spies Francis’ large shadow lurking uneasily at the top of the stairs. Randall grins feral behind Will where he props up the door jamb.</p><p>Normally the prospect of something so social sprung on him by surprise would have made Will snarl, but he spares a smile for his pack, turning his face and meeting everyone’s eyes. <em> They worried about me </em>.</p><p>Will sighs, resigned to the inevitable ruining of the moment, “Where is Abel?”</p><p>Everyone who is not Abel Gideon flees. Peter murmurs that he’ll find Abel and then he too is gone.</p><p>Will shrugs off his coat in his office, wrinkling his nose at the stale remnant of cigarette smoke that he most definitely did not leave to linger in the air, and waits.</p><p>“I should send you to Pig Town for your carelessness,” he says slowly, toneless but for an unmistakable undercurrent of fury when Abel arrives, hunched and cowed.  He’s sorely tempted to, but he’d gone through quite a bit of trouble to catch the alpha, and his talent at forging documents would be wasted in the work camps.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>*****</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Ostensibly, Will is part of a small gang of criminals who happened to get lucky, acquiring a legal betting license and reaping the rewards. It's not a typical family-run mob, but rather an eclectic collection of men orbiting Will at its center. The whole affair is covered in layers of deception so thick that no one knows it exists. </p><p>To the outside world, these men are seen as independent criminal enterprisers who occasionally help each other out; no one sees Will, the link between them all.  </p><p>Will has seven men he delegates to, usually routine criminal pursuits, while he himself makes a point to broker new deals and manage trouble. Dolarhyde oversees his speakeasies, Wells is his bookie, running his betting houses with ruthless precision. Will trusts his underbosses, and generally they run their sections well, but he still makes a point of routinely inspecting his little empire.</p><p>Everyone is suspiciously well behaved in the aftermath of Gideon’s discipline, passing no comments on the unusually smooth introduction of Hannibal into their pack.</p><p>Hannibal moves into one of the upstairs rooms, boarding along with Will’s upper echelons on the first floor. Will himself sleeps on the ground floor, only a door away from his office. It takes two days of waking up in the small puddle of blood under his shoulder for him to ask after Hannibal’s first aid experience.</p><p>Will is cranky, sitting on the kitchen island next to the stove and unbuttoning his shirt. He’d slept poorly the last two nights, dreaming he was Abel before Will found him, bloodthirsty and frustrated and so very confused. It’s not unusual for Will to dream of murder, but it is unusual for the feelings associated with someone else's headspace to linger long into the day.</p><p>Hannibal digs for supplies in his well-stocked medical bag on the counter. He’s annoyed behind his professional mask, Will can tell, at having to deal with a less than fresh stab wound when Will should have known better, asked sooner. It’s enough to lift Will’s mood out of the gutter, watching Hannibal try to remain polite.</p><p>“Stab wounds are dangerous. You should take better care,” he turns, glaring at the drop of blood leaking a trail down Will’s chest like it’s a venomous snake.</p><p>“Well?” Will knows he’s being a shit.</p><p>“You’ll live,” Hannibal says, washing his hands in the kitchen sink. Will can smell him as he steps closer, and his scent is wonderfully unobtrusive. It's comforting in a way scents from childhood are. Will pushes the thought away in favor of watching Hannibal work. </p><p>He’s meticulous, cleaning and probing at the wound with practiced care. Will doesn't make a sound as the edges are pried open. “You’ve kept it clean at least, but this will need stitches.”</p><p>Will hums, whatever the doctor orders. “I usually don’t,” he says flatly, thinking about other wounds that have failed to leave lasting marks on his body, “but everyone seems to go for my right shoulder and it’s really starting to piss me off.”</p><p>“You’ve been stabbed here before?” Hannibal asks, gathering suture thread.</p><p>“Shot.”</p><p>Hannibal works methodically, small black butterflies forming a line in Will’s skin. Will grits his teeth, lip lifting in a barely repressed snarl at each drag of thread.</p><p>“You don’t have a scar,” Hannibal says, tying another knot.</p><p>“I do not,” Will looks down at the side of Hannibal’s head where he's bent over his work. He can hear gears turning. “Spit it out.”</p><p>Hannibal meets his eyes, red on blue, and then bows forward to continue working, “Either you are deceiving me, or you are not. Each option has its implications, and I’m curious.”</p><p>“I’m not a liar, Hannibal.”</p><p>“Aren’t you?” he says softly, lifting his head again. Will searches his dark eyes, feeling something build in the space between them.</p><p>Will tilts his head, regarding the alpha, “What do you think?” he murmurs</p><p>Hannibal smiles tight-lipped, shuttering his eyes. He cleans and packs his equipment with efficiency. “Keep your stitches dry. They will need to be removed in ten days.”</p><p>Will can’t help but think Hannibal is hiding something. He watches the alpha, but he only betrays his fondness for Will’s expansive kitchen.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>*****</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Do you have a particular product you traffic?” Hannibal asks. They’re heading towards a warehouse on the waterfront, one Will frequently visits. The previous time they’d been here, Hannibal had eyed the crates containing European wine with longing. “Or do you traffic whatever you can?”</p><p>“Oh, the usual. Booze, guns. Tobias has a nose for counterfeit art and antique instruments. You’d be surprised how much people pay for things like that,” Will barks a humorless laugh, “It’s funny, dealing with the rich and ignorant. They think buying something gives them power over me, but in the end I know more about them than they’d ever tell anyone, and I use that to my advantage.”</p><p>“Mr. Graham,” Hannibal says wryly, and Will smiles crooked right back at him, “I do believe that it’s safer to make a deal with Lucifer than it is to make a deal with you.”</p><p>Will laughs loud and bright, “I’m an opportunist.”</p><p>“A manipulative one at that.”</p><p>“Why, Mr. Lecter, are you complaining?”</p><p>“No,” Hannibal smiles.</p><p>“Good. I want you to do something for me.”</p><p>Hannibal bows his head as they enter the warehouse. The outside is carefully constructed decay, weather-worn from the storms that frequently sweep across the bay, but the inside is well maintained and bustling.</p><p>Will nods towards the tall alpha heading their way, “Give him a list of wines you’d like, he’ll get it for you.”</p><p>Francis reaches them in time to hear the last part of what Will says, and he looks somewhat proud to be recognized.</p><p>“Will.”</p><p>“Whatever your heart desires, Hannibal,” Will tells him, and Hannibal looks at Will almost like he’s grown a second head, though he hides it well enough to anyone else, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you looking forlorn in my kitchen.”</p><p>Hannibal doesn’t flounder outwardly, but Will sees the shock turning behind his eyes., “Your kitchen is underutilized, both in frequency and pantry space.”</p><p>“So utilize it,” Will pans, “No one else really does, except maybe Garret. Alana mentioned your love of cooking.” Will steps closer and Hannibal’s jaw ticks minutely, “Shall we make a deal, then, to ease your reluctance?”</p><p>Hannibal swallows, “Am I selling my soul, Oh Devil?”</p><p>Will grins, lips pulling up slowly to display his fangs, and Francis shifts on his feet, wary, “Only your skills, Hannibal. If you cook for me, I’ll gladly provide the wine. It’s only polite, after all.”</p><p>They fall into an easy routine, Hannibal as Will’s shadow when he leaves the confines of his house, and Will as Hannibal’s audience when he performs. And perform he does, producing culinary masterpieces now that he finally has access to the resources the war in Europe had sought to deny him.</p><p>Though Will does not seek to deny Hannibal, finding him joyous when granted what he desires, there are certain times when he must ask the alpha to defer their after dinner conversation, times when one of his killers come to speak their mind and collect a name from his book.</p><p>He can feel Hannibal’s curiosity practically burning off him in waves whenever one of Will’s underbosses joins him for a fireside tete-a-tete, often extended to the early morning hours, but Will does not enlighten him to their purpose nor their content. The secrets spilled between the walls of his office are fated to remain between him and the murderer he unleashes onto an unfortunate soul marked for death by his hand.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>*****</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Will drives them to Spring Grove, growing quiet and uneasy as the Maryland Hospital for the Insane looms larger and larger on the horizon.</p><p>They are stopped at the door and let no further than the foyer. An orderly ostensibly dressed in white dismisses Will immediately, turning to Hannibal instead, “What do you want?”</p><p>Hannibal remains placid, looking the orderly in the eye, “We have an appointment with Dr. Frederick Chilton.”</p><p>“Dr. Chilton doesn’t take appointments on Wednesdays,” the orderly lifts his upper lip in disdain. “Try again.”</p><p>“I don’t have time for this,” Will mutters, taking his gun from where he’d holstered it this morning and dropping it on the admission desk. The clerk behind it rears back from the gleaming black metal. “Tell Chilton Will Graham is here.”</p><p>Hannibal places his gun next to Will’s, and the orderly glares at both of them. He turns on his heel and marches away. Hannibal had been quietly offended at being offered a firearm at the start of his work and Will still finds it amusing.</p><p>They stand in the airy foyer for nearly fifteen minutes, listening to the soft echoing wails of mental patients reverberating off the walls, and before long Will’s teeth are on edge. A different orderly approaches them, swinging a set of keys on a thin chain.</p><p>“Follow me,” he says, giving Will a coy look. He sticks closer to Will than is appropriate, but only by a small margin, making it impossible for Will to tell him to fuck off without being rude.</p><p>When they finally reach the administrator’s office, Will’s mouth is pressed into a thin displeased line.</p><p>“You are late, Mr. Graham.”</p><p>“We were on time, Doctor Chilton. Your staff wouldn’t let us through the door,” Will hates how saying it makes him feel like he’s a student making excuses for tardiness in the principal's office. </p><p>Dr. Chilton hides a sneer behind his large desk, his scent lost in the mist of some completely heinous concoction from a perfumery.</p><p>“Sit,” he says eventually, leaning back in his chair. “You’re quite infamous, Mr. Graham, a criminal omega.”</p><p>“I’m hardly the only one,” Will takes the chair in front of the desk, Hannibal lurks behind him silently. </p><p>“No, but you’re the only omega I’ve ever come across who’s trusted to negotiate for a mob. I wonder what it is you’ve done to earn yourself that position,” Chilton’s eyes flicker between Will and his bodyguard before he dismisses Hannibal's presence entirely, no doubt assuming Hannibal is here to keep Will in check. </p><p>“I’m not here to discuss past incidents of criminal activity, Doctor, I’m here to discuss future ones, specifically those which you've asked for. What is it you want us to transport?”</p><p>“I thought you’d afford me more discretion than that, Mr. Graham, at least to my face. I assume you people take a look in all the boxes you move around for people, hmm?” </p><p>“Only to ensure we haven’t been lied to. There are certain things we will not move. It’s better you tell me now, and save us both the trouble of calling off the deal after negotiations have been completed.”</p><p>“Will you move opium?” he asks sourly.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Are you going to take a cut? I hear it’s custom among some of you.”</p><p>“No.” Will partakes of some contraband, but he draws the line at things he doesn’t trust. He’ll transport it, but he won’t let it tarnish his industry.</p><p>Frederick purses his lips, swiveling in his chair, “I’m not paying full price. We’ll have to find something else, besides money, to trade then.” He has the look of a man who is about to get what he wants, so Will waits him out. </p><p>“I’ve heard some...incredible rumors, Mr. Graham, about you. Rumors concerning your nature, speculations that you aren’t really an omega at all, just pretending to be one. Others muse that you are a true chimera, so very rare. Would you be interested in perhaps remaining in my hospital for a study? I’m sure you’d find it beneficial.”</p><p>“Absolutely not,” Will should have expected this and he can't find it in himself to be angry about it. Chilton is a bottom feeder.</p><p>“You won’t even think on it?”</p><p>“I know what I am, Frederick,” he says with fraying patience. </p><p>Chilton narrows his eyes at the casual use of his first name, “Then what else can I offer you, besides my expertise?”</p><p>Will pretends to think, “How about the train tracks running behind your hospital?”</p><p>“What about them?” the doctor snaps</p><p>“They’re strategically placed.”</p><p>“O-oh, Mr. Graham, those tracks belong to the government, a fact you are undoubtedly aware of.”</p><p>“I am, I am also aware of who controls them, and it certainly isn’t the government,” Will looks at him a moment longer, and then rises, heading for the door, “Do let me know what you decide, Doctor. Good day.” </p><p>Will is halfway through the door, Hannibal behind him, when Chilton calls, “Wait!”</p><p>Will pauses and turns his head, listening.</p><p>“Fine. You have a deal. I’ll send my foreman to the docks at White Banks on Friday.”</p><p>Will tips his chin, “Pleasure doing business with you, Doctor Chilton.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>*****</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Hannibal drives to the docks on Friday, Will begging off sitting behind the wheel because of a headache.</p><p>“You should take some time to rest, Will.”</p><p>Will makes an unimpressed noise where he’s squinting out the window, coat collar flipped up. He’d forgone his hat today.</p><p>“Your sleep schedule is deplorable, and your appetite has decreased.”</p><p>“Hannibal.” </p><p>“You haven’t finished a meal in two days, Will-”</p><p>“Hannibal,” he repeats, louder, ill-tempered, “Let it go.”</p><p>The silence is filled only by the car’s rumbling engine. It’s a clear day, though still cold, and the winter sun is stabbing Will right in the eyes. He knows his temples are aching for the same reason he’s irritable and not in the mood to eat. He’s been stuck in Tobias’ anal-retentive headspace for days now; the alpha keeps finding fault with the names Will gives him out of the notebook and the irritating perfectionist mentality has followed Will out of his office. Finding fault with everything he usually doesn’t give two shits about, even from the detached second-person view he inhabits when in someone else’s head, is grating on his nerves.</p><p>“If there’s something wrong with the food,” Hannibal starts, hesitant.</p><p>Will huffs a derisive sound, bringing a hand up to rub at his mouth, “There’s nothing wrong with your cooking.”</p><p>“Then why aren’t you eating?”</p><p>Will doesn’t answer him, and they drive the rest of the way to the docks in silence. Several of Chilton’s men are there, milling about, and Will recognises one of them as the orderly who’d dismissed him before at the hospital.</p><p>“Would you like me to deal with this?” Hannibal asks, soft and low as Will squeezes his eyes shut against the onslaught of bright sunlight.</p><p>Will works his jaw, tongue licking over his teeth, “Yeah.”</p><p>Hannibal gets out of the car, more than capable of navigating these negotiations. He’s intelligent, and cunning, and knows exactly what to bargain for.</p><p>Will sits in blessed silence for a long time, until he suddenly can’t bear the confinement. He nearly kicks open the passenger side door in his haste to reach open air. He slams the door shut and leans against it, eyes closed and head tilted back as he takes several deep breaths filled with river stink. The tension in his skull and down his shoulders starts to ease.</p><p>His tranquility is ruined by invading musk, and when the alpha speaks, Will’s headache digs deep, “You’re way too pretty to be out here alone, honey.”</p><p>Will spies the alpha through his narrowed eyelids and resists curling his upper lip to warn him off. It’s one of Chilton’s men, the orderly who walked too close to him as he escorted Will through the hospital. Will can’t afford to cause another scene, rip out another throat in broad daylight. He crosses his arms over his chest, drawing his coat closer to himself in the hopes that the insufferable knothead would take the cue and leave.</p><p>Will has no such luck, the alpha creeping closer, “Aw, baby, don’t be shy. You smell way too good to be acting like that.”</p><p>Will can only imagine Jack Crawford yelling at him - <em> another one Will? Can’t you control yourself? </em> - but it’s not enough to stop him from actually snarling now, eyes flashing silver.</p><p>“So that’s how you want to play-” his aggressive advance on Will is stopped by the impenetrable barrier of Hannibal’s bulk, appearing just in time to save the fool from being bitten. “Oh, he belongs to you.”</p><p>Will saves himself from smelling and hearing any more by wrenching open the car door and then slamming it behind himself. His teeth itch for blood and it feels like he’s retreating. He clenches his jaw until the urge to tear and rend and kill rushes through his blood and dissipates through his fingers.</p><p>He becomes vaguely aware of muffled voices just beyond his metal sanctuary, several more alphas gathered around at a respectful distance to watch the drama unfold. They won’t interfere with what they perceive to be an altercation over an omega.</p><p>Hannibal says something with finality, Will’s head resounding too painfully with every beat of his heart for him to make out the words and then Hannibal is in the car and they’re driving away, but Will doesn’t regain the ability to breathe.</p><p>“Stop,” he says weakly.</p><p>“Will?”</p><p>“Stop the car, Hannibal, please.”</p><p>They’re on the bridge crossing over the Chesapeake Bay, but Hannibal pulls over and Will is out the door before the car has even stopped. They’re alone on the bridge, thank fuck. Will paces up and down the dusty road, fingers pressed so hard into his eyes he sees stars.</p><p>“Fuck.”</p><p>Will leans on the railing, staring across the water with unfocussed eyes until his breathing stops being ragged.</p><p>“Did you catch his name?” Will sounds like he’s been screaming.</p><p>“Matthew Brown. Are you going to speak to Chilton about this?” </p><p>Will bites his lip. That pompous asshole wouldn’t do anything as undignified as discipline his own men.</p><p>“I really wanted to kill him,” Will hisses eventually.</p><p>“You were within your rights,” Hannibal says from where he’s leaning against the hood, watching. </p><p>“He thought I was your omega. <em> You </em> could have gotten away with it,” Will spits.</p><p>“But you are not.” No he’s not, but Will still hates how calmly he says it.</p><p>“What would you have done, if I was?” he challenges, whirling around to glare at Hannibal.</p><p>“I guess we’ll never know, because you are not.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>*****</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Will’s little notebook gains an extra name and is swiftly returned to its drawer.</p><p>Hannibal makes him sweet-smelling tea, and he spends the rest of the day in his office with the curtains drawn, menacing in his foul mood until his headache eases and he sleeps.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>All mistakes are mine, and I do apologize for them. Let me know if you spot any!<br/>Pig Town and Spring Grove are real places. A website by the name of <a>Ghosts of Baltimore</a> has some nice historical pictures.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Martyrs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“You could finish here. I’m sure one of the teaching hospitals would accept you.”</p><p>“Not without money,” he says, “I enquired when I arrived in the States.”</p><p>“I could pay, if you’d like,” Will murmurs.</p><p>Hannibal goes rigid in his chair, his scent spiking sharply. He stares at Will for a long time. “I cannot possibly ask that of you.”</p><p>“How do you know?” Will regards him placidly, “You haven’t tried.”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Leave your hope for truth, in the hands of faith<br/>Let it lead the way<br/>None of us is whole, madness shapes our fate<br/>We're the ones to blame<br/><br/>The thinking mind is singled out<br/>The fool is royalty and<br/>Never will let you evolve<br/><br/>Our laments echo silent, hidden to their eyes<br/>The wordless ghost of mankind<br/>Tongueless criticize<br/><br/>The masses voice is silent<br/>Lost within our walls<br/>They're waiting for a mistake<br/>To provide our fall<br/><br/>Spirit of the water, let the sky fall down on me<br/>Suffocate the fires lit to harm<br/>Hear the prayers calling and embrace our fallen sons<br/>Heal the open wound that bleeds the earth<br/><br/>Shepherd of the elite, guiding light of vain<br/>Idol of its prey<br/>Give your servants hope while they beg for change<br/>And so they'll obey...<br/><br/>We are made for dreaming, for wandering the earth<br/>For what we have is all we need<br/>Framed inside a system<br/>Made to praise the tame<br/>A leash to keep our will restrained<br/><br/>Drowning in the shadow, of the wonders we have built<br/>We are<br/>The ashes and the seeds<br/>Spirit of the water, let the rain pour down on me<br/>We know<br/>Our essence is the key</p><p>-Martyrs-Soen</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p> </p><p>Will's unique perception didn’t only make him useful to Jack Crawford, it made a name for itself in the underworld, a specter to be sought if one had a particularly difficult problem. It’s reach crossed state lines, creeping into the underbellies of various cities. The specter demanded a high price, the rumors told, but the truly desperate were willing to pay. One such desperate soul comes to Will riding on an invitation extended to a friend.</p><p>Will calls Alana. She sounds surprised to hear from him, and downright astonished when he invites her to dinner.</p><p>“I’d be delighted,” Will senses faint hesitance in her voice as it crackles through the phone’s receiver.</p><p>“I won’t be cooking, so you don’t have to worry.”</p><p>“I’m not worried,” she paused, “at least not about that.”</p><p>“Then what are you worrying about?”</p><p>“I’m worrying that if I ask to bring a friend, you’d call the whole deal off.” It's sweet, the way she tiptoes around socially-stressed Will Graham, and he knows it's because of his fragile omega performance in her presence.</p><p>“I won’t, but I’d have to ask Hannibal. He’s making the food.”</p><p>Alana laughs, melodious despite the dampening of the sound as it travels down the phone line. “You’re lucky, getting to sample his cooking.”</p><p>“I am. He’s talented. Bring your friend, Alana, my table is big enough.”</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>“You look well, Will. How’s Winston?”</p><p>“Hello Alana. Pretty pleased with himself, I’d reckon. He won, again,” Will said, taking her coat and smiling fondly at the thought of his stallion, safely tucked away in his stable.</p><p>“You have Winston?” Alana’s companion asks, not unkindly. She’s a slim woman, stately and graceful with a Southern drawl to her words, “Mason would be disappointed if I don’t try to buy him from you.”</p><p>“Margot Verger,” Will says, not unkindly, “I’ve seen your face at the races. Sorry you lost the last one.”</p><p>“Oh, phish,” she laughs, “You’re hardly sorry. At least let me see him?”</p><p>“We can take some apples to him after dinner,” Will promises with a grin, taking Margot’s coat in turn and ushering his two guests further into the house, “Come on, Hannibal’s in the kitchen.”</p><p>“Of course he is,” Alana smiles, following Will down the hallway.</p><p>Will takes them through to the dining room, four intricate place settings set on the large table. Will pours them each a glass of white wine, to which Alana arches a brow, friendly amusement apparent on her face.</p><p>“Hannibal’s been teaching me things,” he says, mocking himself, motioning for them to take their seats. Will sits at the head of the table, Hannibal’s place to his right; it being his house, though the role of host is like an untailored suit. Will is more of a co-host tonight, and that brings forth thoughts of home and family and normalcy so viscerally unsettling, Will shuts them down immediately.</p><p>“I take it that you two are getting along,” she has a slightly smug smirk on her lips, “I told you you’d like him.”</p><p>Will stifles the urge to roll his eyes at her, chuckling, but she’s right, Will does like him. Will likes more than a few people, the problem here is that Will suspects Hannibal likes him too, and for more than Will’s potential ability to warm a bed.</p><p>As if summoned by Will’s thoughts, the man himself arrives, sleeves rolled up as they usually are when food is being made, but the shirt he’s wearing is new. In fact, his entire suit is, courtesy of Will suggesting (demanding) Hannibal update his wardrobe at the omega’s expense. Hannibal had been shocked, betrayed only by the slight tensing of his lips and resolutely blank face. His attempt at protest hadn’t even left his mouth before Will shut him up by saying something along the lines of looking professional, and then he sent the man to his own tailor.</p><p>Hannibal greets Alana, who introduces her companion, and Will realizes he likes seeing Hannibal in finer things. Will pours him a glass of wine as he returns to the kitchen to collect their meal. He returns, sleeves now rolled down under his suit jacket, bearing a large serving dish. He places it steaming on the table.</p><p>“It's good to have you for dinner again, Alana,” he smiles, eyes crinkling at the sides, “Will was kind enough to provide the main ingredient for tonight’s meal, fresh from the river,” he speaks as he serves them each a portion of fish accompanied by colorful and intricately curled vegetables, and then takes his seat. “I do hope I’ve done it justice.”</p><p>“I’m sure you have,” she says kindly as they start to eat. Alana is vocal in her enthusiasm, humming around her fork, “You two make a good team.”</p><p>“And you two? How’d you meet?” Will asks.</p><p>“We met at one of the suffrage demonstrations in the city,” Margot speaks from beside Alana, giving her a fond look, “My brother has recently taken an interest in politics and so I’ve taken an interest in opposing him.” Ah, sibling rivalry.</p><p>Will had met Molson Verger fleetingly, years ago. He was the kind of man who was adamant God, Jesus and the Holy Ghost were alpha, and he wasn’t the least bit saddened to hear of his passing. Will suspects his son is no different.</p><p>Will thinks of the conversation he had with Jack, the order to find protection because he’s an omega. He contemplates the recent uptake in police raids on his speakeasies, the escalation from simply destroying his stores of illegal liquor to actively beating any patron caught in a bar. It all speaks of a very specific agenda being pushed behind the scenes. “I assume he’s the one imposing puritan rules in the local government?”</p><p>Margot smiles sardonically at Will, “It’s never good news for anyone involved when Mason turns his interest to something new.”</p><p>Dinner is an amicable affair, old friends catching up and new acquaintances strengthened. Will almost feels benign again, like this is one of the many evenings he had with his mother in Louisiana before becoming what he is now. It doesn’t help that Margot keeps sending him looks across the table like he used to get from some courting senator’s son come for a visit; all assessing and business-like, but at least she doesn’t make a show of it.</p><p>When their plates are empty, Alana slides Margot a private glance, some unknown conversation passing between their eyes. Hannibal doesn’t miss her looking, though, and Alana invites herself to the kitchen in the guise of helping with dessert, leaving Will and Margot alone. Hannibal doesn’t protest and Will almost tells Alana she doesn’t have to try so hard to get Hannibal away from him; he’d give Will space by simple request.</p><p>“Come, we can go see Winston,” he says, loud enough for Hannibal to hear. Hannibal knows not to disturb Will when he’s with his horses, and now is no exception.</p><p>Will gathers a few apples from the bowl by the front door and he and Margot don their coats for the brisk but cold walk across the cobblestones to the stables.</p><p>Winston nickers softly at him, knowing Will always has something delicious with him. Margot’s comfort with horses is evident in her soft stroking over Winston’s long red face. He happily eats the apple she offers, biting it cleanly in half.</p><p>“I always wanted to ask about his scar,” she says, running her fingers through his forelock. Winston has a long dark mark on one flank, now covered by his blanket. It’s apparent to anyone that the horse had a severe injury to his skin.</p><p>“Found him with a massive gash, just running and half-starved. I asked around the area, no one knew him.”</p><p>Margot turns to give him a sardonic look from under her brow, “You found one of the city’s best racehorses, just like that?”</p><p>“Just like that.”</p><p>“And here I thought you’d bewitched the wind and gave it four legs,” she murmurs.</p><p>“Is that what they say,” Will moves down the corridor, giving an apple to one of the other horses peeking out of its stable.</p><p>“Among other things,” there’s a smile in her voice.</p><p>“What else do they say about me?”</p><p>Margot’s voice loses all candor, “They say you’re a houngan, one of the voodoo priests from down south. Others say you’re a spirit put inside a dead man by someone looking for a deal.”</p><p>“And what do you think?” Will knows he outwardly resembles a young alpha at first glance and is careful not to turn his body fully toward Margot, not with the way he suspects her brother dominates her. He looks at her sidelong instead, watching as she sighs, fidgets, opens her mouth and then closes it again.</p><p>Eventually she looks back at him and says, “I don’t care. I was told you help people.”</p><p>Will can see where this is going. He remains quiet, letting Margot formulate her thoughts and give them to the open space when she is ready. She speaks haltingly, like she’s turning over every word for hidden meanings. Will recognizes it as a habit, something she had to learn in an effort to only let out what can’t be used against her. Mason must truly be a piece of work to reduce someone as noble as his sister to this.</p><p>“I tried to kill my brother. I’m going to try again, when I can get away with it without losing everything I have. My father’s will requires a male heir.”</p><p>Ah.</p><p>Will let’s the silence hang for a moment longer, holding Margot’s gaze, “Does Alana know?” His voice is neutral, but he’s thinking of the fond looks the two women shared over dinner, how close they walked to each other.</p><p>“She does. I was planning on seducing you, she suggested I just ask, but she doesn’t know, does she? That your help comes at a price.”</p><p>Will lets the empty air speak for him.</p><p>“Is there anything-” she breaks off, ripping her eyes away from Will, the effort her words require is a painful stab in his chest. She clenches her eyes shut, her body going limp in resignation. “Alpha, please,” she whispers.</p><p>Will can’t help the sympathetic noise he makes in the back of his throat, “Margot,” he approaches her slowly, “Alana is right, you only have to ask.” <em>You don’t need to beg</em>. He lifts a hand, letting her scent his wrist as he cradles her cheek. “Here.”</p><p>Will had once made a spectacle of taking an alpha to bed during a heat - in some misguided hope that it would curb others from trying to do the same so desperately - and he’d asked the alpha to describe his scent to him. The alpha told him that he smelled <em>dangerous</em>. Granted, Will had been extremely annoyed at the time, but that didn’t stop the man from wanting to fuck him. Instead, Will had given in to his instincts once they were both naked and slaughtered the alpha in his own bed.</p><p>The bloodbath he left behind proved to be a better deterrent for prospecting alphas, with Will repeating the experience enough times that his reputation stuck: any alpha willing to bed Will Graham would not survive the night. His reputation had diluted in the intervening years, losing a large part of its effect in the move from Louisiana to Baltimore and becoming more of a rumor. Regardless, Will played within what little power the rumor afforded him when he needed to, but right now he’s glad Margot hadn’t heard it.</p><p>Will makes sure to keep his scent soothing as far as he’s able, not wanting to scare Margot anymore than she already is. Her sense of smell isn’t as acute as his, but she calms regardless.</p><p>She stiffens almost immediately, eyes flying open to meet Will’s deliberately shining silver ones. She lets out a trembling little oh, realizing what it is Will is showing her.</p><p>He might not be an alpha, but he's as good as, and that is all she needs to know. It might even be better for her that he’s not, she has trauma associated with alphas in spades.</p><p>“What’s your price?” her voice shakes, but she keeps her eyes on him and steps closer despite her fear. Will admires her determination.</p><p>“What would you give me, in exchange for this?” he keeps his voice soft, tone intimate as he brings his other hand up to brush her hair out of her face.</p><p>“Anything,” she hisses, and Will tips her head up for a kiss.</p><p>It’s soft and hesitant but not chaste. Will runs his nose across her cheek when it breaks, scenting her. He’s not terribly familiar with women, but she smells appetising, letting him believe she’s in the receptive period of her cycle.</p><p>“My price is information, and your promise of being an ally should your plan prove successful,” he says into her hair.</p><p>“Information on what?” she speaks to his throat, greedily breathing in his scent. Will doesn’t think she’s even aware she’s doing it.</p><p>“Your brother, of course.”</p><p>“Of course,” she scoffs and he smiles against her. “You have yourself a deal.”</p><p>Will lets Margot control their pace, following her movements as she leads them to press her back against the column next to Winston’s door. Winston, having lost interest in them quite quickly once he realized no more apples were forthcoming, ignores them further in favor of chewing hay.</p><p>Margot guides Will to touch more, kiss deeper. She unbuttons his shirt and runs her hands down his chest. Will is broader than she expects, her hands coming back up to roam over his shoulders under his shirt, grazing the stitches Hannibal had so carefully placed there. They should have come out days ago, but Will just couldn’t have bothered.</p><p>His distraction must become apparent, for she pulls back and yanks at his hair, “Do I have to drag this out of you?” she bites, “I won’t break.”</p><p>Will pushes against her in retaliation, spreading her legs and she gasps. She might not break, but she has cracks aplenty and he is loath to contribute to them. Margot has a line of steel in her and Will switches tactics from caution to haste. She doesn’t want intimacy from him, so he’ll make this as quick as possible, but there’s no reason for it to hurt, and there’s no reason why it can’t feel good.</p><p>Will pushes again, mouthing along her jaw and down her neck. He starts bunching up her skirt and she wraps her arms around his shoulders, helping him lift her when he hooks her legs around his hips. Will makes quick work of moving her undergarments as she unbuttons his trousers with one delicate and deft hand, pulling his erection free. He must have done something right, she’s wet where his fingers graze her. He doesn’t linger, this anatomy more or less familiar to him, gripping her hips tightly as he thrusts in.</p><p>Will kisses her again, more out of obligation than genuine want, though she feels good around him. He works her quickly but not unkindly, waiting for her head to fall back on a shuddering moan and her body to go tight before he snakes a hand around to his knot. It won’t do for them to tie together, if he could even tie with a woman; they’ve already spent a long time away from the house. He grips it tightly in mimic of a clenching body, spilling inside her, thinking of short blond hair and a deep voice.</p><p>Their breathing comes down together and Will steps away, careful not to hurt Margot as he pulls out and lowers her legs. He manages to fasten his pants in time to avoid Winston sneezing all over his still-hard dick, coming to investigate and getting drops of snot and some wet hay on Will’s chest.</p><p>It does the trick, breaking the tension and they both laugh. They adjust their clothes and pull their coats tighter around them.</p><p>“Let me know if it works,” Will says, patting Winston over his muzzle and then drags his filthy fingers through his hair, effectively killing any remnant of Margot’s scent on him. It's an unconscious movement right up until it's not, Will realizing what he's doing with a detached sense of irritation.</p><p>He pulls out the tin of cigarettes he’d confiscated from Randal this morning, lighting one. He takes a drag and then passes the noxious fumes to Margot. They stand outside the stables until she’s done smoking, the cold air effectively killing the flush their encounter had brought to their skin, as well as Will’s knot.</p><p>They leave their coats by the front door and join Hannibal and Alana for dessert.</p><p>Altogether, they drink two bottles of white wine, topping it off with glasses of port in the sitting room by the fire. Alana leaves almost red-cheeked, practically giggling as Margot drives them home. She must have had the lion’s share of wine with Hannibal in the kitchen.</p><p>Will joins Hannibal at the kitchen sink where he’s washing the dishes, preempting the protest he knows is coming as he takes up cutlery, “You did all the cooking.”</p><p>“You caught the fish Will, it’s the least I could do.”</p><p>“Hannibal,” Will waits until he stops scrubbing a plate and looks at him, “We can go around in circles in your obsession with courtesy and tally up each little thing until we know who owes more, or you could shut up and let me help.”</p><p>Hannibal is unconvinced, and shows just how much by snapping his hand over Will’s where it's reaching for a plate.</p><p>“For fuck’s sake, Hannibal,” Will laughs, “It’s my goddamn house, let me put it to rights, or I swear,” he doesn’t finish the threat, his point ostensibly made.</p><p>“Or you’ll what, Will?” Hannibal looks mildly troubled, but he’s smiling. He has yet to release Will’s hand.</p><p>Will smiles deviously, bringing the top of Hannibal’s hand to his face. He gives Hannibal a coy look from under his brows, not missing the way Hannibal’s eyes darken. He conspiratorially whispers, letting his breath fall over the alpha’s knuckles, “I swear I’ll drag you over to the counter and make you sit there and watch me wash all your dishes.”</p><p>Hannibal is horrified, and it brings another laugh out of Will as he gently lowers and places Hannibal’s hand back in the soapy water. “So let me help.”</p><p>He does, movement rigid and mechanical. Will is quickly becoming addicted to an unbalanced Hannibal. They work in silence until Hannibal clears his throat.</p><p>“It was good to see Alana again.”</p><p>“Yes. Thank you for suggesting it, by the way.” Hannibal shoots him a small frown, handing him the last plate to rinse. “This, dinner. With Alana. I wouldn’t have done it out of my own.”</p><p>Hannibal gives him an assessing gaze, and then resolutely focusses on strangling a dish towel, “Margot makes for good company, as well.” Is that...jealousy Will hears?</p><p>Will’s first instinct is to make some vague statement of agreement that lets Hannibal know he’s not interested in her like that, but considering he did just fuck her in his stable, he elects for redirection, “Those two are in love. You should work on your observational skills, boy.”</p><p>“You're the boy in this situation, Will. I'm older than you.”</p><p>Will laughs his way out the kitchen and down the hallway.</p><p>“And take a bath before bed, you smell like you rolled in the hay with Winston,” Hannibal calls from where he’s turning down the kitchen lights.</p><p>Will snorts, “You’re not my father, Hannibal,” he stands in his office door until Hannibal is halfway up the stairs and then goes to his own room. He takes a bath before bed.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>It takes an entire week of Will scratching at his stitches, irritating the skin around them to redness for him to crook his fingers at Hannibal, calling him to follow.</p><p>“Am I finally to have my own late night in your office by firelight?” he asks wryly and closes the door behind him. It is indeed evening, and Will has a fire going in the grate, but he knows that’s not what Hannibal is referring to.</p><p>Will thinks of his little notebook, tucked in his top drawer with Matthew Brown’s name at the end of its list, next to Margot’s scribbled note simply stating<em> It worked</em>. Will wonders, not for the first time, what Hannibal would do if presented with a name from the book, how his face would change as Will describes the implications of accepting the responsibility of killing Will’s enemy, acting as his agency in the world.</p><p>“Maybe someday,” he says. Hannibal takes direction well enough, but balks at certain instructions, like carrying a gun. Will would have to wait until Hannibal learns to take his word as gospel before opening up his book and its entire accompanying can of worms. For now, Will squashes the impulse by sitting on his desk and unbuttoning his shirt.</p><p>Hannibal stops halfway to Will’s desk, wary. Will plays innocent, keeping his face open and blank as he regards the alpha trying his best to impersonate a statue in the middle of his office. He unbuttons his shirt completely, pulling it out of his waistband and flipping the sides open like curtains before a window. He barely keeps a straight face at Hannibal’s stricken expression, letting one corner of his mouth curl up.</p><p>“My stitches need to come out,” he says, maintaining his façade of innocence only long enough to see Hannibal’s fear melt into exasperation before bursting out laughing. Hannibal’s affront only serves as further fuel to the fire, and Will has to bite the back of his hand to stop the sobs wracking his body. He’s pretty sure he has tears in his eyes.</p><p>Hannibal actually pouts, and Will is seized with how adorable it is. He takes mercy on the alpha and finally pulls himself together long enough to say, “They really do need to come out.”</p><p>“Will,” Hannibal opens his mouth to say something else, and then his entire face crumples under the world’s most long-suffering sigh. “Let me get my scissors.”</p><p>“You do that,” he says cheekily at Hannibal’s retreating back. He honestly has no idea what’s come over him, but he’s having fun, so he doesn’t question it. He spares a giggle at the recent memory of Hannibal’s surprised face, the best one Will’s managed to pull from him so far, with his lips parted like someone had slapped him. It’s his own damn fault, being so fussy and prim that Will just can’t resist baiting him. It’s a more innocent form of fishing, and Will is an excellent fisherman. He has an entire gallery of killers at his disposal as proof.</p><p>Hannibal returns looking much too composed for Will’s liking, so he spreads his thighs and slips his shirt off his right shoulder to reveal the angry red line of his stab wound, dotted with black knots.</p><p>Hannibal takes a breath and steps into the invitation, doing an admirable job of keeping his face serene. His scent is slightly stronger underneath the smoothness of ivory soap, probably due to the elevated heart rate associated with the bit of stress Will put him through. Will winces as the first string is cut and pulled, and doesn’t miss the way his torturer tries to suppress a smile at the reaction.</p><p>The next suture makes Will frown. It stings. He should have expected it to, and he suspects his vicious clawing at it the past few days is contributing equally, if not more, to the pain.</p><p>He flinches at one near the middle, and Hannibal gives him a look. “Sit still.”</p><p>“It fuckin hurts.”</p><p>“Will,” Hannibal fixes him with a scolding expression bordering on scary, “These should have come out <em>two months ago</em>,” he yanks another one out, no doubt aiming to earn another flinch, but Will gifts him a slow growing smile instead.</p><p>He’s grinning like a madman when he sasses, “You know, I left them in just to see you make that face.” He raises his brows as he looks up at the alpha, affecting a totally false air of innocence. This would be the perfect time to kiss him, Will thinks, surprising himself with the thought, but that would break the dam and he’s having way too much fun to end this now.</p><p>Hannibal closes his eyes, shaking his head minutely, “Insolent boy.”</p><p>“I am not a boy, Hannibal,” he quips, feigning hurt, “I only look like one.”</p><p>“Then stop acting like one” Hannibal finally teases back.</p><p>“Not my father, Hannibal.”</p><p>“Perhaps I should be.”</p><p>Will snorts, earning another look. “How old are you, Hannibal?”</p><p>The alpha looks mildly indignant. “I was born just before the turn of the century.” Gods he’s young. Will doesn’t let his surprise show.</p><p>Hannibal smooths his thumb over the red line that was once an open wound in Will’s flesh, brows furrowed in consideration. “This will scar badly.”</p><p>“It’s not going to scar.”</p><p>“You are a terrible patient, Will.”</p><p>“Oh, I know,” he answers wryly, and his humor takes a swift nosedive as he thinks about the topic he’s planning on broaching. “I’m about to become even worse.”</p><p>Hannibal looks at him curiously, dropping his hand so Will can flip his shirt back over his shoulder.</p><p>“I think it’s time we had a conversation,” Will shifts, buttoning up his shirt.</p><p>Hannibal takes a step back, giving Will space. Will doesn’t want it. “I thought a conversation between us would only happen later,” he says with a twinkle in his eye.</p><p>“Not the same kind of conversation,” Will stands and tucks his shirt in, the collar still very much unbuttoned, “unless you’re going to tell me every dirty secret you have.”</p><p>“Is that usually what happens? Unburdening?”</p><p>“To an extent,” he smiles sadly at Hannibal, “they unburden, and leave being able to take on the world again. Drink?” he asks, motioning to the bottle of whiskey tucked into one of the book shelves.</p><p>Hannibal eyes Will and his offer like it might bite him, “Am I going to need one?”</p><p>“No,” Will’s smile is sardonic, and he pours himself a generous amount of liquor, “but I certainly do. I don’t like talking about this but needs must and this is as good a time as any.”</p><p>They settle into the two armchairs by the fire, Will sipping his drink. He kicks off his shoes, pointing his toes at the fire with a sigh. “I can hear you thinking. Ask your questions.”</p><p>“When were you born, Will?”</p><p>“I am older than Edison’s light bulb.” Hannibal didn’t give him a number, so Will won’t give him a date. His answer draws such a substantial reaction from Hannibal, Will is almost proud. “Don’t believe me?”</p><p>“I am still wrestling with what I know to be true.” Hannibal pauses. Will waits, sipping. The questions will come eventually, Hannibal is far too curious for his own good. “You are...adamant that you won’t scar.”</p><p>Will just hums.</p><p>“You can control your <em>étinceler</em>,” Will frowns minutely. Hannibal is referring to his...sparkle? “Your eyes. You flashed them at me the night we met. I thought it was a trick of the light at first, but I’ve seen you do it several times since then.” Hannibal hesitates now, mulling over his words and filling the air with the faint tang of anxiety, “From what I’ve observed, you don’t seem to fit our current model of gender classification, rather you are a combination of two dynamics.”</p><p>“That sounds very much like a doctor’s opinion, but what about yours?”</p><p>Hannibal shoots him an irritated glance, “I was nearly a doctor. It is my opinion.”</p><p>“Hannibal,” Will fixes him with an unimpressed stare, “You’re holding back. Don’t spare my feelings, I can assure you they’ve survived far worse than speculation.”</p><p>“I’m not speculating. I know what you are.”</p><p>Will stares with narrowed eyes, disbelieving. People have made conjectures, wild ones, in the past but no one has told him with certainty that they know what he is.</p><p>“And what am I?”</p><p>Hannibal works his jaw, staring into the fire. Will can smell his anxiety clearly now, “You are what some refer to as a fighting omega, or a lycan.” Will raises a brow, Hannibal’s words having gone in a wildly different route than he was expecting.</p><p>Hannibal looks at him quickly, assessing his reaction, and returns to watching the flames dance. “In the founding myth of the Lykaia, the king of Arcadia holds a feast for the gods, but he attempts to test Zeus’s omniscience by including human flesh in the feast, probably that of his own son. Zeus struck his house with a thunderbolt as punishment, ending his line. The festival it birthed celebrated the rite of passage from youth into manhood. Sacrifices were made to Zeus at nighttime towards the end of May, a single morsel of human flesh intermingled with that of the sacrificial animal, and whoever ate it was said to transform into a wolf for nine years. It is now speculated that among the young men participating in the Lykaia must have been a fighting omega, who went into heat, leading to the rise of myth and legend.”</p><p>Will joins Hannibal in watching the fire, the words turning in his mind, “Learn that at school or is it something you heard?” he keeps his tone open, curious.</p><p>“History and philosophy formed part of my studies, yes.”</p><p>Will thinks of the word Hannibal used - lycan. He’s heard it somewhere before. “A werewolf,” he says wryly, making the connection and chuckling, “That’s a new one. Most people think I’m a vampire.”</p><p>“It’s a reasonable assumption,” Hannibal says, a faint smile drawing lines around his eyes. The lemony scent of stress fades slowly as Hannibal comes to terms with the fact that Will isn't about to get mad at him.</p><p>“Must be because of the ah, biting,” Will clacks his teeth mockingly, drawing attention to his fangs.</p><p>“Perhaps, but the two myths have walked hand in hand for centuries, so much so that the one likely gave rise to the other.”</p><p>“Stop ruining my fun with facts. I’m a vampire, I can make ghouls,” he jests, but Will thinks of Abel, now bound to him in eternal servitude by a band of scar tissue in his neck. Will doesn’t feel guilt, only annoyance.</p><p>“Have you utilized that skill before?” Hannibal asks tentatively.</p><p>“I have. I’m not fond of it.” It feels like cheating, he doesn’t say, because biting anyone without letting them reciprocate and form a bond gives him an unfair advantage over his prey. It has the potential to take the thrill out of the chase.</p><p>“The festival you mentioned,” Will starts.</p><p>“Lykaia.”</p><p>“Yeah. I’ve never heard of it before.”</p><p>“That’s not surprising. It’s often overlooked in favor of Lupercalia which succeeded it.”</p><p>“I do know that one. It’s where Caesar pretended he didn’t want a crown and become the king of Rome, right?” Of course, Lupercalia celebrated fertility among other things, figures it took place in May.</p><p>“Indeed,” Hannibal smiles fondly at him, like he’s a student finally coming to understand a difficult concept, “May I ask something?”</p><p>“Fire away.”</p><p>“You mentioned distaste at having to discuss this.”</p><p>Will fixes him with a knowing stare, “To answer your non-question, I usually don’t like discussing this with anyone because they treat me like a circus animal.”</p><p>“Usually?”</p><p>“Your prior knowledge made the whole spiel a whole lot less tedious.” Will blinks, “I don’t stop working during my heat, by the way, and it’s coming up.”</p><p>“I understand.”</p><p>Will has seen what heat does to other omegas, and while he doesn’t pity them, he can’t help a twinge of envy. What happens to him can arguably be called worse than a normal heat. Will is not granted the sweet oblivion of being near delirious with need. Rather, he is present, fully alert, rarely aroused and he is angry. “No, I don’t think you do.”</p><p>Hannibal darts his gaze at Will, “Is it bad?”</p><p>“It is. You’re going to have your hands full with me. I might be a stubborn asshole now, but it gets ten times worse. I’m terrible.”</p><p>Hannibal looks like he might disagree, but wisely keeps that opinion to himself. Will would have shot it down immediately; Hannibal can deliver his reformulated thoughts after the fact, when he’s seen what Will becomes.</p><p>They let the fire lull them into comfortable silence. Will drains his tumbler and slides it to the floor. He stretches his arms over his head to grip the back of his chair, nails scraping the soft leather as he settles. Hannibal nestles his chin on his hand, thoughtful.</p><p>It’s not often he gets to talk about himself, spending his evenings either listening to someone else’s problems or catching up on sleep. He is reluctant to let the warm bubble erupt around them, Hannibal’s smooth acceptance of Will’s nature providing the bulk of the agreeable atmosphere.</p><p>Will plays the conversation through his mind, still surprised at the ease of which secrets were revealed. “Why didn’t you become a doctor?” he asks softly, drawing Hannibal from within his own mind.</p><p>“War,” he states, and that one word holds all the explanation in the world, but he elaborates regardless, “I had one year of my studies remaining, but when the draft came through, I had no choice but to go or face the gallows.”</p><p>Will can imagine it, a younger Hannibal ripped away from sought-after knowledge, beloved books exchanged for a gun, to end lives instead of save them. He would have been serious in his studying, Will thinks, and he wouldn’t have let his skill go to waste. Maybe he convinced someone higher in command, or maybe he was selected for the role, but Will can see him on the field of war, patching up a broken body as a field medic so that it may survive long enough to reach the hospital. It paints Hannibal in an innocent light, one Will is reluctant to sully with the thick black marks his notebook leaves on the soul. It’s something he’d like to cherish, possibly help flourish.</p><p>Hannibal may be something good in Will’s life, if Will lets him.</p><p>“You could finish here. I’m sure one of the teaching hospitals would accept you.”</p><p>“Not without money,” he says, “I enquired when I arrived in the States.”</p><p>“I could pay, if you’d like,” Will murmurs.</p><p>Hannibal goes rigid in his chair, his scent spiking sharply. He stares at Will for a long time. “I cannot possibly ask that of you.”</p><p>“How do you know?” Will regards him placidly, “You haven’t tried.”</p><p>Hannibal makes a disconcerting noise deep in his throat. He looks about ready to flee the office, only good manners and shock keeping him from storming out.</p><p>“If the amount is what concerns you, just know that I have far too much money to ever use myself.” Hannibal scoffs, disbelieving. “We’re going to the bank at the end of the week, you can have a look at some of my accounts if it makes accepting the offer any easier.”</p><p>Hannibal’s eyes roam over Will’s face, searching. He must find what he’s looking for, because he settles back into his chair, staring at the fire. “I can’t promise that I’ll accept, after.”</p><p>“And I won’t force you to. You only need to ask for what you want,” Will pretends not to see the minute stiffening in the alpha’s posture at his words. Hannibal relaxes in increments until they are both lounging.</p><p>“Hang on, is my lycanthropy why you called me a mongoose?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Will snorts a laugh, and Hannibal joins in his mirth with a small upturn of his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>Will is wearing a suit more traditionally omegan than his usual black and functional attire. The wraparound shimmers darkly where it accentuates the shape of his torso, extending from the collar of his soft white shirt to the waistband of his dark pants. It precludes the need for a tie and waistcoat, and Will matches it with a blue overcoat, cut slimly around him.</p><p>He knows he looks good, because Hannibal stares at him for a full thirty seconds, mouth slightly parted as he leaves his office.</p><p>“Morning,” Will chirps knowingly, nearly skipping past Hannibal’s frozen bulk, briefcase in hand. “Come on, we haven’t got all day,” he calls over his shoulder, and Hannibal finally moves.</p><p>Peter drives them into the city, dropping them in the bustling central business district. Will garners appreciative looks the moment he hits the pavement, but he pays them no mind. Hannibal draws close enough as they walk to warn others off from approaching, but not staring.</p><p>They walk three blocks through crowded sidewalks, paperboys yelling on every corner, finally reaching the bank with its imposing stone columns. It’s a beehive of ringing phones and rustling papers on the inside.</p><p>The front desk clerk looks unimpressed as she directs them to the tellers. They stand in line, Will entertaining himself by trying to catch people in the act of looking at him.</p><p>“Couldn’t Lawrence have come to the bank?” Hannibal asks, behind him in the queue.</p><p>“Why, don’t like the city, Mr Lecter?”</p><p>“You don’t like the city, Will. And yet,” he doesn’t elaborate, but he sounds so stern it borders on comical.</p><p>“And yet. I found myself in a rather cheerful mood this morning,” Will explains, neglecting to add that the source of his high spirits is the anticipation of seeing just what kinds of reactions he can coax out of Hannibal today. Hannibal is so stoic sometimes it's almost unbearable. Will delights in drawing human expressions from the man, and is getting better and better at reading Hannibal’s tiny twitches. “These are legitimate accounts, Hannibal, Lawrence doesn’t have access and he never will.”</p><p>“You have legal businesses?” Hannibal sounds dubious.</p><p>“Of course,” Will replies sweetly, “and I should have come to check on them last month, but we were a bit preoccupied, if you recall.”</p><p>The woman ahead of them throws a scandalized look over her shoulder. Will doesn’t care if it’s because of the implication that he’s a criminal or the insinuation that he and Hannibal were amorous, and he flashes her a winning smile. She scurries to the teller when it’s her turn, like a harassed cat.</p><p>Will gives the teller an account number through the bars of the booth when it's his turn and her eyebrows nearly climb off her face when she looks it up.</p><p>“I think I’ll be speaking to someone in your accounts department now,” he says to her with a pinched smile. She stammers over her words and then runs to the back. Hannibal signs behind him.</p><p>“I can hear you rolling your eyes, boy.” Will says. Hannibal just gruffs.</p><p>The teller returns flushed and harried, directing them further into the bank where it is slightly quieter. Will hands a substantial stack of papers over to the clerk in the accounts department from within his briefcase. The clerk also disappears for a few minutes, handing back Will’s papers as they are directed once again.</p><p>They reach a small office, the omega behind the desk with the unfortunate luck of helping Will today welcoming them with a shy smile and they take the chairs provided. He immediately starts sorting through Will’s paperwork, quickly sussing out what it is he wants.</p><p>“How far back would you like the statements to go, sir?”</p><p>“Six months, please, but this one,” he gestures to one stack of papers, “a year.”</p><p>“Yes, sir.” the sound of furious typing fills the office.</p><p>“This looks like it might take some time,” Hannibal murmurs, probably not wanting to offend the clerk.</p><p>“Oh, the whole day, I’d reckon.”</p><p>“You’re an impossible taskmaster, Will,” Hannibal observes, leaning back in his chair.</p><p>Will hums, amused. “We passed a bistro of sorts on the way here. They have wonderful turkish coffee.” Will hands Hannibal a card from his inner jacket pocket, an exact replica of the Magician from the deck of cards in his desk, but with something extra drawn by Will on the back, “Show that to the owner. Enough for each of us, I think, and extra for our friend here,” Will spares a nod for the omega behind the desk, who flushes delicately under his attention.</p><p>“Oh, and Hannibal,” Will calls just as Hannibal starts to leave. Will stands and slips his billfold out, handing over a stack of green. He speaks softly, like he’s sharing something unbearably intimate, “While you’re at it, go past Dello’s and get whatever it was that caught your eye this morning,” To anyone else, Hannibal might look perfectly serene, but to Will it’s apparent that the floor had been pulled out from under him, “You and Abigail have been bitching about my lack of decor. Get something you want to see in my house.”</p><p>Hannibal stands immobile, cash in his hand and eyes wide as his cheeks ever so slightly darken, bringing out his warm scent. His lips part around a soft inhale of breath and then he comes back to life. He nods, uncharacteristically silent, and leaves through the office door to join the thronging masses.</p><p>Will turns back to the clerk who’s slight blush has deepened to a lovely shade bordering on red as he’d watched the exchange. Will can’t help thinking about that color superimposed on Hannibal’s skin, how far down his chest it would go.</p><p>Will retakes his seat, “They’re so easy to fluster, aren’t they?” and the omega ducks his head, pausing his typing as he glances between Will and the space where Hannibal was last seen from under his brow. Will wonders what he’s imagining, being under Hannibal or being in Will’s shoes, the rich omega ordering around the alpha in public that he’s probably fucking behind closed doors. Possibly both, but most likely the former.</p><p>He can see the appeal, Hannibal is attractive and would provide for an omega. Will’s position is slightly more daunting, and omegas are conditioned from a young age to not want to be in charge.</p><p>Hannibal returns with a flask of coffee while the clerk is out gathering Will’s requested bank statements, two boxes under his arm. One is significantly smaller than the other. Will doesn’t ask what they contain.</p><p>Will shows Hannibal the end balance at the bottom of a page, the alpha’s eyes going wide. “And that’s only one account,” Will says into the small space between them, watching in fascination as Hannibal first pales and then flushes, “No obligation or reciprocation required, my offer stands.”</p><p>They leave the bank just after lunchtime, Will stopping by a supervisor’s desk to commend the omega that helped him so efficiently. It’s a cutthroat world and he knows the omega worked hard to reach such an independent position, so he does what he can to ensure he gets his recognition.</p><p>Peter picks them up after they eat at a little café, handing Will a thick brown envelope with an insignia on one corner. Will tucks it into his briefcase with a wink at Hannibal, and they head back to the estate.</p><p>Later that evening, Will gives Hannibal the envelope. The alpha frowns, seeing the name Johns Hopkins University on the outside. He opens it and drops its contents on Will’s desk at reading the words “application forms” as though the papers burned him.</p><p>“Will,” his voice is sandpaper rough and he doesn’t look up, staring at the forms like they're made of spiders.</p><p>“You don’t have to, but now you have everything, if you want to,” Will pushes the papers closer to Hannibal, who fingers the corners gently, finally picking them up.</p><p>Hannibal is about to shut the door behind himself when Will says “I hope you do. Doctor Lecter has such a nice ring to it.”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The Magician: willpower, link between the spiritual and the real, "as above so below", origin of magic.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 7empest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Will, did you know this man?” Jack demands, glaring at Will.</p><p>“I’ve met him. His name is Matthew Brown and he works at the asylum, as an orderly. I’ve heard some talk about...substances being trafficked through the hospital.” Will doesn’t share any more information, leaving something for Jack’s detectives to do, though he feels no compunctions about directing the wolves to Chilton’s door. He has enough self-preservation to not do it outright; he wouldn't want to compromise his reputation. </p><p>Jack mutters a curse under his breath, turning to Will and practically shouting in his face, “Were you even gonna tell me?”</p><p>Will curls his lip up in a silent snarl, “You insist on using a known criminal in your investigations, don’t act surprised when he knows other criminals.” </p><p>Jack looks at him with wide eyes.</p><p>“Anything else,” Will spits into ringing silence, “I think I’m done.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"Mention this to me, and watch the weather change," -Disposition-Tool</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div>
  <p>(Keep calm, keeping it calm, keep calm. Fuck, here we go again)</p>
  <p>Heat lighting flash, but don't blink. Misleading<br/>Tranquility ruse<br/>You're gonna happen again<br/>That's what I think<br/>Follow the evidence<br/>Look it dead in the eye<br/>You are darkness<br/>Trying to lull us in, before the havoc begins, into a dubious state of serenity<br/>Acting all surprised when you're caught in the lie</p>
  <p>We know better<br/>It's not unlike you, it's not unlike you<br/>We know your nature</p>
  <p>Blame it all on the bastards when you're blowing out<br/>Shame on you<br/>Shame on you now<br/>No amount of wind could begin to cover up your petulant stench and demeanor<br/>Calm as cookies and cream, so it seems<br/>We're not buying your dubious state of serenity<br/>Acting all surprised when you're caught in the lie</p>
  <p>We know better<br/>It's not unlike you, it's not unlike you<br/>We know your nature</p>
  <p>Calm before the torrent comes<br/>Calm before the tempest comes to reign all over</p>
  <p>Disputing intentions invites devastation<br/>A tempest must be true to its nature<br/>A tempest must be just that</p>
  <p>Control, your delusion<br/>Insane and striking at random<br/>Victim of your certainty, and therefore your doubt's not an option<br/>Blameless, the tempest will be just that<br/>So try as you may, feeble, your attempt to atone<br/>Your words to erase all the damage cannot</p>
  <p>A tempest must be just that</p>
</div><p>-7empest-Tool</p><p>**</p><p>Thank fuck it’s a quiet day, Will thinks, rolling out of bed somewhere close to noon to the tune of a familiar ache in his belly and dread at what he’s going to see in the mirror. He stumbles to his dresser and yes, right there, his too blue eyes shine back.</p><p>Will tries dimming his eyes in some last ditch attempt at postponing the inevitable, but the silver glow in his irises remains stubbornly present, as does the accompanying prickle of ice. There is nothing he can do now but endure.</p><p>He dresses angrily, resentment boiling over into his movements as he jerks his pants up, rips a shirt from its hangar. He nearly throws his shoes when he realizes he has to tie the laces.</p><p>Will knows he’s being petulant, but he really wants to kill something.</p><p>He stomps into the kitchen, interrupting a conversation between Abigail and Hannibal. She makes herself scarce; everyone will, avoiding him as much for his sake as for theirs. Hannibal, on the other hand, barely pauses as he takes Will in. He can undoubtedly scent Will, and he clearly sees the shine in his eyes. His lack of an outward reaction is impressive.</p><p>Will takes in the aromas of the kitchen, warm bread and red meat. For the first time during a heat, Will feels the stirrings of arousal and he is monumentally confused.</p><p>“Salt or sugar for lunch?” Hannibal asks, turning back to the stove.</p><p>“Coffee,” Will growls, scoping out the kitchen for something he can’t find. “I’m going to the stables,” he announces. The horses always calm him.</p><p>“Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” Hannibal says, his tone bearing no inflection as Will starts down the hallway.</p><p>Hannibal brings him coffee and leftover biscotti from yesterday, sleeves still rolled up and apron on. He brought the scent of baking bread with him, Will thinks. He nearly proposes to his porcelain mug.</p><p>“I’m taking you up on your offer,” Hannibal says.</p><p>Will takes a moment to process Hannibal’s words, and then he remembers the application forms. He grins, probably too wide and just on the wrong side of deranged. “Fantastic,” and he means it.</p><p>Gods, this is what Will’s always wanted, someone who just treats him normally even though he’s so far out that particular box he can barely see it, business as fucking usual because he’s not about to break.</p><p>Will alternates between petting his horses and nibbling on biscotti until the plate is empty. He starts brushing down Winston, fully immersing himself in the musky and slightly metallic scent of horses. Peter takes good care of his animals, but Will enjoys pampering them when he has the chance. Hannibal watches him with the same thinly veiled curiosity directed his way on a normal day, waiting for a cue to do <em>something</em>. He doesn't look at Will like a piece of meat, the way so many others do.</p><p>Will is combing Winston’s mane when Hannibal calls softly, “Will, I’m about to start dinner, is there anything in particular you want?”</p><p>Will leans out of the stable door, and Hannibal doesn’t look amused to see him so covered in horse hair and dust. “Something red-blooded. And salty.”</p><p>“Bacon?”</p><p>Will grins lopsided, “The way to a man’s heart.”</p><p>Hannibal gifts him a slight blush and private smile, leaving Will to his own devices with the animals. Will licks over his fangs, though he doesn’t know what exactly he’s salivating at, the thought of bacon, or the view of Hannibal’s ass as he walks away.</p><p>He spends some more time covering himself in dirt and then heads back to the house. His quest to the kitchen is halted, however, by the phone ringing in his office.</p><p>The line is for emergency use only, so he begrudgingly flings open his office door to snatch up the receiver.</p><p>“Will?”</p><p>“Alana?” her voice sounds small and his stomach drops, “What’s going on?”</p><p>“Margot’s in the hospital. Mason found out.”</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>Will drives to the hospital alone, barely stopping to grab his coat in his rush out the door. Peter gives him a vaguely horrified look as he spins the car out of the garage, tires squealing.</p><p>Will has a fleeting twinge of guilt at abandoning Hannibal and their meal without an explanation, but it's drowned out by more practical thoughts, such as how in the hell someone got to Margot. After her note arrived, Will had set up rotating teams of guards to keep her safe. They insinuated themselves in the Verger organization quietly; neither Will nor Margot trusted Mason’s men. Will had one of his underbosses supervising at all times, so <em>what the fuck happened?</em></p><p>Mason discovering the pregnancy is another matter entirely. He could have scented it, or simply seen Margot, but Will doubts she was showing so soon and he knows they don’t live in the same house, Margot long ago distancing herself from her brother and her father’s influence.</p><p>Will arrives with no memory of the trip, slamming the car door harder than necessary. The sun buries itself for the night as he runs through the door, a nurse yelling at him. He dashes up the stairs and along the third floor where a doctor blocks his path.</p><p>“Now wait just a minute-”</p><p>“Will!”</p><p>He ducks under the doctor's arm and runs straight to Alana, embracing her. She trembles, sniffling into his shirt as he runs a hand over her head tucked under his chin. Will closes his eyes, absorbing Alana’s fear, letting it run through him. When she moves away, he’s almost as exhausted as she looks.</p><p>“Oh, Will-” she gasps, seeing his eyes.</p><p>“Yeah, I stink,” he smiles, wrinkling his nose at her, “How is she?”</p><p>Alana leads him to a private room, the doctor glaring at him as he goes. Margot is wrapped in white sheets, asleep. She looks small and Will feels like he’s treading on a moment, trespassing.</p><p>“They gave her something for the pain,” Alana murmurs, moving to a chair at the side of the bed and taking Margot’s limp hand in her own. Will is definitely trespassing.</p><p>There is a man leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, watchful. Will recognizes him as one of the guards he assigned to Margot, though his face is a mix of bruises slowly rising. It will hurt in the morning. The man gives him a perfunctory once-over, checking for concealed weapons most likely, which reminds Will that he didn’t even bring his gun. It’s foolish coming to the hospital, Mason might be watching, but coming unarmed is doubly so.</p><p>“What happened?” he gives the man a hard stare.</p><p>“Ambush, drove a truck into the side of Miss Verger’s car just as we got around the corner to the house. That tall lanky guy-”</p><p>“Stammets.”</p><p>“Yeah. Hit his head pretty hard but he still got up. They gave him a knife for that. Last I saw, your man Dolarhyde was after them.”</p><p>Dammit. Will closes his eyes, sparing a moment to mourn his mushroom farmer. “There were only two of you?”</p><p>“My brother is downstairs, probably terrorizing the nurses. They got him pretty good, gonna need a lot of stitches.”</p><p>“Got you pretty good too,” Will says sardonically. The man just shrugs. “I’ll go check on him.”</p><p>“Not looking like that,” the man raises his unbruised brow in Will’s direction and looks him dead in the eye, “He’d have a heart attack. I’ll tell him you were here, he’ll understand.”</p><p>Will scoffs at his own forgetfulness. He makes sure to keep distance between the two of them. “Does Mason still trust you?”</p><p>“I don’t think he cares. He got what he wanted. She’s safe enough for now.”</p><p>Will frowns. What he wanted? He opens his mouth to speak when Alana preempts him. “She lost the child. They beat her. And...and.”</p><p>Will is next to Alana in a flash, catching her in another embrace and she cries a damp spot on his shirt, sobs wracking her frame. Will holds her for a long time. Margot sleeps on, oblivious, soft breaths against the hospital pillow. Will can see a bruise forming on her cheek and a ring of blue around her neck.</p><p>He takes his previous though back; coming to the hospital is not foolish, not if Mason is watching. Will hopes he is, so he can come confront Will and Will can finally kill something. He doesn’t feel a thing for the loss of the child himself, only pain for his friends. The moment it started growing in Margot, he was free of any parental obligation, no matter the technicalities; the child would have been Alana and Margot’s. He’s not cut out for parenthood, killed that part of him long ago.</p><p>Alana slumps back, tear tracks streaked down her face. Will rubs circles on her shoulder, hoping the action is comforting. He is terribly far out of his depth with this, he doesn’t do tenderness well, but it seems to be working.</p><p>The same doctor from before comes to stand in the doorway, clearing his throat, “There’s someone here for you,” he says to Will, giving him a hard stare, “The hospital doesn’t appreciate-”</p><p>“Yeah, I know. I’ll get out of your hair soon, Doctor, don’t worry,” he bites back, and the man leaves in a tizz. Peter stands in the hallway, wringing his hands. He takes tentative steps into the hospital room.</p><p>“Jack Crawford’s looking for you,” the words tumble out, “I told him you were busy, but he…”</p><p>“He probably threatened to arrest you, and me, and everyone else,” Will clenches his jaw.</p><p>Peter nods shakily, “He sent a detective to the house.” Fuck Jack Crawford and the entire Baltimore police department. The man is worse than Will’s own mother.</p><p>Alana sniffles, squeezing his fingers, “Duty calls,” she gives him a sad smile but Will can see her spirit is still very much intact, staring defiantly out of her blue eyes.</p><p>He glances at the man in the corner, who says “Go, I’ll stay with them.” Will nods to him in thanks.</p><p>Outside, Will walks straight past the sneering Detective Krendler and climbs into his own car without a word. Peter joins him, and they follow the detective to a dusty lot with a large steel warehouse. The grounds are teaming with policemen and Will has to take a minute to compose a mask of calm to cover the seething within.</p><p>Heads turn as he kicks his door shut. They don’t turn back as he marches to the warehouse, his eyes attracting unwanted attention in the dark as they reflect the sparse light affected by the moon and some dingy bulbs inside the building. Peter stays with the car.</p><p>Krendler bumps elbows with another detective where they lean against his car, whispering. They leer at him as he walks past, “Put your tongue back in your mouth, Detective, you’re not a dog”, Will says, and Krendler sputters. Will disappears into the yellow din before the alpha can get his words together.</p><p>Will finds Jack inside, looking ready to boil over. “What took you so long.”</p><p>Will remains apathetic even as Jack pulls up short and glares at him, “You have excellent timing,” Will sasses.</p><p>“Good lord,” Jack says.</p><p>“Please tell me there’s a body, or did I drag my ass out here for a robbery?”</p><p>“Oh, there’s a body alright,” a woman calls from the back. She comes closer, squinting at Will, “You look…”</p><p>“Like shit. Nice to see you too, Bev.”</p><p>“Sure you should be here?” she cocks a hip, “You’re not gonna, I don’t know, grab the nearest hunk and make out?” Will smiles.</p><p>“Not likely, but I will take a piece of Krendler, and not in a nice way.”</p><p>“Body’s back there,” Jack huffs, impatient. “Everybody out!” he yells, his voice booming around the open space. There’s grumbling, but everyone leaves. Beverly gives Will a concerned look before turning for the door and then it’s just him and Jack.</p><p>Will stalks further into the dim space, Jack hanging back. Getting closer, Will makes out details. The body of a man is sitting on a makeshift throne constructed from the same wooden pallets stacked in every corner. He is dressed in a red sheet, a set of scales in one hand and a sword pointing to the floor in the other. He is Justice, but his crown is upside down and he is wearing Matthew Brown’s face.</p><p>Someone has taken a name out of Will’s book and dressed it up as a goddamn tarot card. Will has to take deep breaths, working down the anger so he can let the pendulum swing and see.</p><p>He doesn’t get very far in the reconstruction, his ire boiling over but he does discover the killer’s particular frame of mind. This is a mockery, a karmic justice and so very disdainful.</p><p>It’s a little on the nose, Will thinks, but he can’t help agreeing with the superficial message. He knows there’s a deeper one; nothing this elaborate would only have one layer of meaning.</p><p>“He’s been disemboweled, under all that. Organs are all there, but the skin and muscle covering his entire abdomen is gone,” Jack says behind him.</p><p>“Not gone. The killer took it.” Will can smell the blood.</p><p>Jack moves into his periphery, “You know who did this?”</p><p>Will’s never seen one of his crime scenes up close before, but this specific brand of haughty petulance is unique to only one killer, “The Chesapeake Ripper made quite the debut.”</p><p>Jack comes to stand in front of him now, “Are you telling me he’s back?”</p><p>“It’s a possibility. Lift the sheet, please.”</p><p>Jack gives him a calculating look and then obliges, moving the fabric gently out of the way. Brown has been afforded some modicum of decency in the form of his intact trousers, but his intestines spilling over them negate the effect. There are guts streaming everywhere, but most have been piled onto his lap, their sour stench rising to fill the air. Will can see the back of the sheet next to his spine through the space previously occupied by his abdomen, and Will’s stomach takes this opportunity to voice its concerns regarding his missed dinner.</p><p>Will thinks of bacon, the strips of pork belly on the kitchen counter this morning.</p><p>Will bends closer, examining the edges of the evisceration. They’re clean, and accurate, but don’t follow the exact lines a slaughterhouse would. Will sees his own hands lovingly fold over the piece of flesh, careful not to puncture the viscera below and ruin the meat as he removes it.</p><p>So, the Ripper is a butcher. Will has a butcher of his own, he thinks, picturing Garret at work, but this is far too wasteful for his particular tastes.</p><p>“He bled out,” Will says, seeing the puddle of blood around the throne better now that the sheet is out of the way, “and he’s not restrained.”</p><p>“We think the killer might have poisoned him.”</p><p>Will thinks, tries to fit the piece into the puzzle but it doesn’t want to. He shakes his head. No, not poison, something else. His heart was still beating, but he couldn’t move.</p><p>Will sees Margot in his mind’s eye, tranquil and sedated despite the brutality visited upon her thanks to modern medicine.</p><p>The Ripper is knowledgeable about medicine, a doctor or apothecary, but the anatomical removal of the abdominal wall skews towards doctor.</p><p>“You sure all the organs are there?” Will asks, not looking at Jack. There’s scurrying and footsteps and then a warm body comes to poke around in the cold one but Will doesn’t really see it, circling the display and taking in more details.</p><p>The crown is made of thick layers of paper, painted gold, and the sword is too, but its blade is left bare. Will thinks of the paper stock Hannibal bought, and the delicate pots of oil paint. He'd practically beamed at the thought of getting art supplies with his wages.</p><p>The scales are broken, deliberately so, and technically belong in a kitchen, no doubt there’s an entire philosophical discussion around that. They’re brass, old and tarnished and Will thinks of the boxes Hannibal had when he came back from Dello’s. The bigger one could definitely fit the scales.</p><p>“There’s only one kidney,” the warm body says, resolving itself into Brian Zeller.</p><p>Hannibal made steak and kidney pie last night, and it was fucking delicious.</p><p>Will closes his eyes, his breath leaving him in one long sigh.</p><p>“Well?” Jack demands.</p><p>Will looks at Matthew Brown again, his head slumped slightly to the side, mouth parted like he’s asleep. The side of his neck is exposed and Will’s teeth itch.</p><p>“It’s the Ripper,” he breathes. Zeller looks skeptical, “and he definitely didn’t poison him. That would ruin the meat.”</p><p>Jack pinches his nose, “This is almost worse than Minnesota.”</p><p>“You’ve never seen a Ripper murder, how can you be sure?” Zeller challenges from where he’s crouched in front of the body.</p><p>“Rude victim, missing organs, petty presentation.”</p><p>“Will, did you know this man?” Jack demands, glaring at Will.</p><p>“I’ve met him. His name is Matthew Brown and he works at the asylum, as an orderly. I’ve heard some talk about...substances being trafficked through the hospital.” Will doesn’t share any more information, leaving something for Jack’s detectives to do, though he feels no compunctions about directing the wolves to Chilton’s door. He has enough self-preservation to not do it outright; he wouldn't want to compromise his reputation.</p><p>Jack mutters a curse under his breath, turning to Will and practically shouting in his face, “Were you even gonna tell me?”</p><p>Will curls his lip up in a silent snarl, “You insist on using a known criminal in your investigations, don’t act surprised when he knows other criminals.”</p><p>Jack looks at him with wide eyes.</p><p>“Anything else,” Will spits into ringing silence, “I think I’m done.”</p><p>Will turns on his heel and leaves. “I’ll send you the files on the Ripper,” Jack insists at his retreating back. Will gives him the finger over his shoulder, despite knowing it won’t deter the man from doing what he wants.</p><p>Beverly is chewing her bottom lip at the door, and the rest of the crowd outside part like the Red sea for Moses at Will’s furious countenance.</p><p>Peter drives, Will not trusting his rage to take over the wheel and do something reckless.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Justice: dishonesty, unaccountability (not that Hannibal will be left unaccountable).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Sectarian</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hannibal closes his eyes again, “Divine punishment mirrors the sin being punished,” he’s paraphrasing Dante, of all things, “I took from you. You take from me. Contrapasso.”</p><p>But Will isn’t God, even though he has more money. He shakes his head, stepping back to look at Hannibal clearly. He’s slumped against the wall, as much as someone with his sense of grace is capable.</p><p>“I gave to you, because you asked. I will continue giving to you, so long as you continue asking. Do you understand?”</p><p>Hannibal studies him through narrowed slits, still disbelieving.</p><p>No, Will isn’t God, but hadn't Hannibal once called him the Devil? And what is the Devil, if not an enabler? Will sighs, “List your sins Hannibal, so we may choose the appropriate circle for you to languish in.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sectarian: a member of a sect, a revisionist.</p><p>*dramatic music*</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eradicate all life<br/>The ones I touch the earth will swallow<br/>I bless them with demise<br/>This burning field my ghost will hallow<br/>Run away and leave it all<br/>Run away and leave it all<br/><br/>Leave the trail for a moment<br/>Change the course for a while<br/>And give in to the presence<br/>Conceding a severed utopia<br/><br/>Let me rest in your cradle<br/>Suffocate by your hand<br/>Be embraced by the rotten<br/>Immoral... perverted... vile<br/><br/>Let the skies rain<br/>On the weak and the fallen<br/>Let them reach faith<br/>And be saved by your glory<br/>Tonight the wait will end signs left a trace<br/>And you'll return unharmed<br/>Free of all the pain<br/><br/>Keep me close to the marrow<br/>Part my skin from the bone<br/>Any thoughts of rebellion<br/>Are captured and hooked up to a chain<br/><br/>When my spirit is broken<br/>And my will disconnects<br/>A mirage of existence<br/>Will carry this life into the next<br/><br/>Hollow shadow, guide me out of the shame<br/>Faceless tyrant, let the fear be my fate<br/><br/>Let the fear be my fate</p><p>-Sectarian-Soen</p><p>**</p><p>Will’s hands shake, undirected fury coiling beneath his skin. He paces in his office, snapping his teeth at the open air. If he wasn’t in heat he’d still be pissed, but better able to deal with the emotion and what caused it. Right now he just wants blood and he doesn’t care who’s; Mason’s, Jack’s, fucking Krendler’s.</p><p>The door to his office opens, bringing with it a scent that focuses Will’s anger so acutely, he goes rigid with it.</p><p>“Will?” Hannibal sounds concerned, and Will doesn’t doubt if it’s genuine. He does question if it’s the only thing Hannibal is feeling, however.</p><p>Will turns slowly, watching Hannibal approach him where he’s fuming at his desk.</p><p>“You left before dinner,” the little crease in Hannibal’s brow would be cute in any other circumstance, but it’s falsity just serves to further irk Will. The whole façade is perfectly crafted, that spark of innocence Will thought he glimpsed inside the man now resolves itself into pure curiosity, like that of a child. It’s easy to see how Will mistook the one for the other and now that he has lifted one tile, the rest fall away so easily to reveal the true fresco that makes up Hannibal Lecter.</p><p>“No thanks to you,” Will speaks calmly, rage no longer burning the flesh from his bones. It's turned to ice in his veins, making for a devastatingly clear head.</p><p>Hannibal drops some of the pretense he’s been carrying around since he met Will, straightening up somewhat proudly, but his face loses its mask of concern to become a perfectly blank slate. They stare at one another, Will’s eyes burning with the intensity of Hannibal’s red gaze. He’s waiting for something, recognition or condemnation for what he’s done, eyes shuttered to hide his feelings until he comes to know Will’s.</p><p>“Was he intended as a courting gift?” Will says, voice low, careful to keep any inflection from his tone but he can’t keep the sliver of hope from straining his voice.</p><p>“He was intended as a catalyst,” Hannibal says nonchalantly, like he hasn’t just strangled the blossom of affection and desire Will forgot he was even capable of, like he hasn’t committed sacrilege in this house and Will realizes that the alpha doesn’t <em>know</em>. Conversations flash through his mind, from their very first meeting to Will explaining his abnormality. Their discussion about Will’s biology and its history sticks at the forefront of his mind and, fuck, Hannibal probably found the cannibalism absolutely <em>hilarious</em>. He puts himself in Hannibal’s shoes and he can see, through all things omitted, how Hannibal took him for a devious omega with a head for business but no stomach for bloodshed by his own hand, and denial for his own nature. Hell, his inaction at Brown’s unwelcome advances practically radiate timidity when viewed without the context of Will’s truce with Jack Crawford.</p><p>“A catalyst for what?” he hates how breathy it sounds.</p><p>“Your own calling to arms,” he tilts his head, so much like a curious predator Will doesn’t know how he was blinded to the fact that this man is a killer. His sharp instinct has been blunted by the years of rubbing in the continual presence of other predators. “Randall told me about your book.”</p><p><em>That little shit</em>, Will thinks, but there’s something in Hannibal’s tone, like he finds Will’s tradition with the notebook amusing and faintly ridiculous. It takes a minute for Will to come up with the word disdain and it reignites his fury.</p><p>“Hannibal,” he snarls, “Why did you kill him?”</p><p>“Why didn’t you?” he asks calmly, “You hand out names like candy, yet you refuse to partake. Is that how you justify murder? By passing the buck so you can ease your conscience, too sensitive to do the work yourself.”</p><p>Will snarls again, stepping right up to Hannibal and the alpha at least has the good grace to turn his head in a subtle submissive gesture. Holy fuck he smells divine, how had Will not noticed? He knows his momentary distraction is taken as hesitation when Hannibal smirks.</p><p>“Did I hit a nerve, Will?” He must really think Will is incapable of killing someone himself to talk so much smack with teeth bared right at his neck. “Hypocrisy is ugly on you.”</p><p>Will growls, deep in his chest, and the alpha closes his eyes and shivers minutely at the sound. The heady scent from his neck changes, taking on the hot tone of adrenaline and the subtle musk of stirring arousal. Will fights the urge to lift his chin and expose his neck to appease Hannibal’s distress, to lure him closer. The instinct is so unlike what he’s felt around alphas during his heat, Will growls again. Hannibal goes unnaturally still, the side of his neck still tantalizingly bared for Will.</p><p>Hannibal, however, is spared Will’s teeth by a racket in the foyer, and a good thing too; Will doesn’t want to subdue him like that. A physical fight between them promises to be immensely gratifying in its savagery, but likely with fatal consequences.</p><p>Will narrows his eyes at the noise behind the door before reluctantly stepping around Hannibal. He wrenches open the door to reveal what looks like a brawl between his men and two others he doesn’t recognize. Francis has one in a headlock, dragging him towards the stairs. The other yells in what Will presumes is Italian as Abel and Tobias struggle with his arms to subdue him.</p><p>Francis, the absolute giant, pauses when he sees Will, still holding his quarry like the man isn’t trying to claw his eyes out.</p><p>“We caught them before they got back to Verger,” he growls, tightening his arm.</p><p>Will can smell blood, and it makes his teeth ache. “Basement,” he spits, “Tie them up. <em>Do not</em> touch them.” He slams the door in Francis’ nodding face, and the noisy procession disappears down the stairs.</p><p>Will turns back to Hannibal, anticipation coiling heavy in his gut alongside arousal. His anger flares up at Hannibal’s slightly wide eyes; he doesn’t look nearly scared enough. It’s almost funny, the way they’ve both deceived one another, but Will’s ulterior motives were entirely altruistic where Hannibal was attempting to lure Will into the darkness for his own amusement. In any other circumstance, Will might have played along, but as it is, he’s so infuriated that he can’t articulate why.</p><p>Will steps right back into the space at Hannibal’s neck and eyes the sweet spot there, thrumming with his life’s blood, knowing the alpha can see his fangs gleaming as he speaks, “Since you’ve invited yourself into my book club, <em>get in the basement</em>, and I’ll show you just how much of a hypocrite I really am.”</p><p>Hannibal swallows, his scent taking on the delicious curl of <em>fear</em>, and slinks around Will out the door.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>Mason’s lackeys are each tied to a chair near the back, Will’s pack members spread out on either side of the room. Will leans against the workbench pushed up against the wall, feeling slightly like a teacher about to start a practical class on how to deal with one’s enemies as he scans the occupants of the room. Most everyone he wants is here, but Randall is playing truant. Will’s irritation at the young alpha grows exponentially.</p><p>Come to think of it, Will has bones to pick with every single one of his alphas, issues he’s been attempting to manage diplomatically through late night discussions. It’s all been so overbearingly placid, no wonder they’ve taken advantage.</p><p>Will flicks his eyes over faces around him once more, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Peter shifts uncomfortably in the tense atmosphere and Will’s eyes narrow in on the movement involuntarily.</p><p>“Peter,” Will speaks gently, “Please go find Randall,” Peter nods jerkily, glad to have an out, “and take Abigail with you,” he adds, spying the young girl fidgeting next to her father.</p><p>“Dad said I can stay!”</p><p>Will’s face doesn’t change, beyond cocking an unimpressed brow.</p><p>“Aw, come on!” she wines, “I’m just as old as Randall, why do I have to leave?”</p><p>“Abigail,” he snaps, patience running out at her petulance. She stomps out ahead of Peter, muttering all the way.</p><p>Will crosses his arms over his chest, chewing absently at his lower lip as he studies the shadows on the ceiling, waiting. No one makes a sound.</p><p>Eventually Randall graces them with his presence, swaggering in with three young recruits in tow. They’re grinning in spite of the seriousness in the air, the way boys do. Will watches them like a statue, only his eyes moving.</p><p>“Mr. Tier, your boys were not invited,” he says flatly. One of them scoffs, Will’s eyes jumping to him immediately. He isn’t surprised, those lower in the hierarchy of his mob barely know his name, never mind what he looks like. Will waits until the young alpha drops his eyes before looking at Randall again.</p><p>“Come now, boss, they’re part of the gang,” he schmooses.</p><p>“Randall,” his voice drops, words ice cold and clear as a frozen lake, each syllable a crack in the surface for how enunciates, “I can hardly trust you to keep your mouth shut about matters of importance, never mind your loose cannons. What happens here is for those <em>I have selected</em>.”</p><p>Randall’s eyes go wide and he swallows. He ushers the three boys out despite their protests, closing the door firmly behind them.</p><p>“Lock it,” Will spits, and the heavy iron door clangs as its bolt slides home. Randall stalks with far less bravado than before, sliding to an open spot next to Hannibal at the right side of the room.</p><p>Hannibal, for his part, is by far the most composed out of all seven of Will’s alphas, and the most curious. Will doesn’t fault him; he’s never seen the omega kill.</p><p>“I think,” Will speaks clearly into the musty air, “that we are overdue for a demonstration. You each have a <em>lesson</em> to learn.” The room chills at his words; Abel shivers. Will meets every alpha’s gaze head on with his own white fire, none keep the stare for long, dropping their eyes to the floor quickly, save Hannibal. He regards Will like he’s merely humoring him. Will cocks his head expectantly, but Hannibal merely cocks his in turn. Will would have him supplicating himself before the night is out.</p><p>Will addresses the open air, “My book is now closed. None of you will be getting names, none of you will shed blood without permission.”</p><p>Francis twitches at the other side of the basement, “Why?”</p><p>“Because when I give a finger, you take an arm.”</p><p>Francis looks indignant, “I never-”</p><p>Will cuts him off with a growl, and the air trembles. He uncrosses his arms, walking closer to the alpha as he speaks, “Mark my words, if you even <em>think</em> going around slaughtering like you did before I found you in order to spite me, remember that I will be the one left to tell your wife about the Great Red Dragon’s demise.” Francis is probably the only alpha large enough to survive taking Will on in a fight, but his words bring the giant to heel, shrinking in on himself.</p><p>“The same goes for your daughter, Minnesota Shrike,” Will meets Garret’s eyes. Unlike Reba, Abigail is entirely aware of her father’s proclivities, but Will knows the alpha would do anything to stay with her, including being obedient.</p><p>He continues, speaking to Tobias, “Every time I gave you a name, you were unsatisfied, Maestro.” He addresses Lawrence, “And you, Monument Maker,” Will steps back to better see the men lined up against the wall.</p><p>“<em>Ungrateful,</em> you four,” he speaks slowly, “Your bickering over body parts stops now. It is unbecoming.”</p><p>Will turns to the other side of the room, sparing a glance for Gideon where he hides his eyes on the floor next to Hannibal. He has been appropriately punished before, but it would do him good to witness this.</p><p>He looks to Randall, “Animals do not pollute their environment, nor do they spill secrets,” he says, “Do not smoke in my office again, Beast of Baltimore, and keep your tongue behind your teeth before I<em> take it for myself</em>,” the boy shrinks back against the wall, nodding.</p><p>Will steps up to the last killer in this impromptu name-and-shame lineup. “And the Chesapeake Ripper, crown jewel of my collection,” he’s close enough to see Hannibal’s eyes darken, “Proprietor of courtesy, taking without asking. A little hypocritical, don’t you think?” Will takes immense pleasure in throwing Hannibal’s earlier words back in his face. “And it's still not the rudest thing you've done.”</p><p>Hannibal barely moves, his face a resolutely blank mask, but Will knows he’s starting to realize just how much trouble he’s in, his scent changing sharply. Will could almost feel bad for him, he’d crafted his lure so well only to find the fish wasn’t interested in his distraction, but would very much like to bite him, if it wasn’t for the fact that Hannibal <em>assumed</em>, just like any other alpha. And that’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? Will hates the pit of disappointment lingering in his gut at the realization that Hannibal has, despite all his superficial decorum, done him the disrespect of treating him like an <em>ordinary omega</em>. Never mind the careless toying with his feelings.</p><p>Will’s disgust at his thoughts brings him back to the present, where he realizes his lip has curled up in a silent snarl. Hannibal tips his chin up minutely, a sign of placating respect. <em>Too little too late</em>, Will thinks, whirling around to the two tied up men.</p><p>He stalks around them silently, pausing to sniff the air, smelling dried blood coming off the younger one. Either it’s a reopened wound, or he’s the one that killed Eldon. It hardly matters; they’re both going to die. Will contemplates exactly how as he lets the day play like a silent film on the backdrop of his eyelids, all the emotions distant where they originally were pressing and immediate. He toys with the corners of the two cards he’d taken from his deck before descending into the darkness beneath his house until his mind clears.</p><p>Will poses a question of intent to the quiet ordinance flowing in his blood, and pulls out the cards to reveal the Hierophant first, then the Hanged Man, reversed. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, this is going to be a difficult one to reenact, but his imagination grabs the depictions and runs freely, glad to be let loose after so long. The cards are both fitting, calling him back to tradition, to well-worn paths that reliably yield results without giving up what he’s achieved through the unorthodox.</p><p>The whole process calms him, and oh, he’s missed this mindset so much, he can hardly believe he’d given it up for these thankless bastards. It's not a mindset that belongs to anyone in particular, rather it’s an amalgamation of many killers, harnessed and bridled to pull the carriage of Will’s own design.</p><p>Will moves to the butcher’s railing bolted in the shadows of the roof, dangling hooks over the middle of the room like stalactites. He slides one to in front of his chosen victim, holding his fingers to the metal until it stops swinging on its short chain.</p><p>He snaps his fingers once, a command, and then walks to the workbench. Abel and Francis immediately peel themselves from their respective walls and grab the alpha Will selected. The man hollers, spitting profanities in his native tongue, his friend joining in with a chorus of <em>Matteo, Matteo</em>! behind Will.</p><p>Will calmly removes his overcoat, laying it on the bench and placing the cards face down next to it. He toes off his shoes at the same time as he starts rolling up his shirtsleeves, glad that he hadn’t bothered getting properly dressed this morning, inadvertently sparing himself the tedium of having to remove a tie, waistcoat and belt. He peels his socks off and kicks his shoes under the table, turning back to the racket of men on borrowed time with his father’s buck knife folded neatly in his palm.</p><p>Matteo is strung up by the ropes binding his wrists together, pulling him to barely stand on his toes as he hangs from the hook. The strain surely is murder on his shoulders, but Will is going to alleviate him of that pain soon enough, so it hardly matters. His ankles are also tied together, his feet bare. Abel and Francis are back against their walls, obedient, watching.</p><p>Will flicks open his knife as he stalks toward the hanged man, and places the blade at his throat. Matteo swallows convulsively, closing his eyes, and his friend growls. The sound glances off Will as he lowers his blade to the first button of the man’s shirt, cutting through its thread. He reaches the fourth button before Matteo opens his eyes and gazes down at his stomach with a whimper. The sound devolves into a surprised chuckle as Will cuts off the last button, opening the shirt to expose the skin beneath.</p><p>Matteo says something decidedly derisive to his friend, who Will learns is called Carlo, and Hannibal snarls at the words. Will glances at him against the wall, then starts cutting the bottom half off of Matteo’s shirt, “What did he say?”</p><p>Hannibal has taken a spot against the wall so perfect, Will couldn’t have chosen it better himself, allowing him to look flush at Will’s profile where he stands in front of Matteo. Will wants him to see.</p><p>“Something rude.” Will can hear the glare in his voice.</p><p>“He asked if you’re going to fuck yourself with him, <em>puttana</em>, maybe you need a big alpha to show you how it’s done,” Carlo says mockingly.</p><p>Will circles the hanging man, cutting the bottom of his shirt clean off. He tears the fabric in two so he’s left with uneven pieces, frowning at the alpha bound to a chair as he folds and pockets his knife. Will sees clearly that the man cares what happens to Matteo, and more than just superficially. They must be related, he guesses, most mobsters are, and it’s a connection Will is going to enjoy exploiting, even if the agony it yields will only be short lived.</p><p>“Carlo,” he says softly, and somehow that’s what wipes the smug look off his face, “I want you to listen very carefully. I’m not doing this because I want information. I know who you work for, I know what he had you do. I’m doing this because I want to.” Carlo swallows, “Now, Matteo killed my man, yes?”</p><p>“Yes,” Carlo answers thickly after a pause, eyes dancing nervously between Will and Matteo’s back.</p><p>Will nods, “I’m going to use that as the convenient excuse as to why he goes first. It will be painful, but fast, do you understand?” Carlo starts protesting, but Will intercedes before he can get a word out, “Ah, ah, <em>no</em>. For every sound you make, I make it last longer. Be quiet, and he suffers less. Si?”</p><p>“Si,” Carlo whispers, his face growing pale.</p><p>Will nods again, the matter settled. He steps around to Matteo, shoving the larger piece of fabric into his mouth. He ties the slimmer piece around his head tightly, running it through his teeth so he can’t spit out his gag. His complaints are muffled by the cloth, giving Will the necessary silence to immerse himself in his rage. He’s going to savor this, he knows, despite how quickly he sees it playing out in his mind’s eye.</p><p>Will gives half a step back, coming to stand directly in front of the hanging body. He eyes the chest, knowing it hides his prize behind skin and sinew inside a bony cage, so how will he reach it? He knows how a body works, has taken enough of them apart to know how to get to where he wants, and quickly. Will reaches for his knife, unfolds it, salivating. He shows his teeth, and, hand cupping the knife steady and flush, he cuts.</p><p>The skin parts in a long red line, from the middle of the sternum to the navel. Guts don’t spill, only a thin layer of superficial fat peeling out over the skin like the yellowing pages of an old book for Will’s questing fingers. The knife slips from his palm, the body stiffening in pain before him, but his hands part flesh without hesitation and <em>it's so warm inside</em>.</p><p>Will insinuates himself in the heat, his fingers gliding just under the line of the ribs to caress the silky-smoothness of the diaphragm and the feeling is euphoric. He gasps in tandem with the jerk of the body, he’s so longed to do this.</p><p>Will turns his palms up, pointing his fingers upwards and presses until the diaphragm gives, granting him entry to the thorax. He pets over the plump lungs as they deflate, feather soft, until he reaches the heart. He curls his hands around the tissue connecting the entire pluck to the spine, and pulls down.</p><p>The heart and lungs come free with a torrent of blood from torn arteries and veins, running down Will’s arms and onto his stomach like a baptism. The bundle follows his hands out of the hole in the skin, the trachea preventing it from moving further, so Will bends forwards and bites through it to relinquish his prize.</p><p>He steps back, clutching the heart in one hand, and panting like he’s just come. It’s such a profound release of built-up tension, Will should by all rights not be conscious, never mind still standing.</p><p>He comes back to himself in increments, the only thought in his head is that abstinence, just like absence, does make the heart grow fonder. He feels like he felt when he killed for the first time, all those years ago, and he knows he’s not going to stop ever again.</p><p>It’s over so fast, Matteo barely had time to jerk more than twice before his heart was in Will’s palm. Will’s breath slows and he turns his head to look at Hannibal in the stunned silence, the alpha’s eyes as black as pitch. Beautiful.</p><p>Carlo takes that moment to draw attention to himself in the form of a forlorn whimper. Will is so incensed, he drops the heart and lungs without a thought and is on Carlo in a second, biting at his throat like he did to Ingram, only this time Will keeps chewing. And he doesn’t make a sound.</p><p>His face is covered in blood and chunks of gore when he lets up, the man’s neck a mess of masticated muscle as the head tips backwards at an unnatural angle. Will had nearly reached his spine.</p><p>He steps back from where he’d practically climbed on the dead man’s lap, taking a deep breath. It all tastes like blood. He wipes once at his face to get rid of the bits of flesh around his mouth, but there's nothing to be done for the rest of him. He’s soaked, sticky and cooling all the way down to his half-hard cock.</p><p>Will looks at Hannibal again, pinning him to the wall, “The rest of you, out,” his voice is surprisingly steady. There’s a mad scramble, some congestion at the door and then they are alone with two cooling corpses. Will stalks to Hannibal, carefully padding through the blood splatter inching towards the drain in the middle of the floor.</p><p>Slowly, Will becomes very aware of Hannibal’s scent and the effect it is having on him, his cock straining uncomfortably. He takes a deep breath, filling his nose and letting it out in one long sigh, relishing the burn of arousal low in his stomach, the tacky slide of slick down the inside of his thighs. He tilts his head to the side, eyes roving over the alpha’s face, “What the fuck am I supposed to do with you,” he muses flatly.</p><p>Hannibal shudders, eyes closing and head tipping back against the wall so Will can see his throat work as he swallows. It’s unfathomably tempting, for different reasons than the neck of the dead alpha behind him had been. Will wants to step into the crook of Hannibal’s jaw and get lost in his scent. He knows Hannibal wants it too, can tell by the bulge in his pants that’s been present since Will opened his knife, and that’s why he doesn’t do it.</p><p>It would be too easy, falling into bed with Hannibal now, if he wasn’t so phenomenally pissed at the alpha.</p><p>“The closure of my book isn’t an adequate punishment for you, since you never played by it’s rules.” Will says.</p><p>Hannibal swallows again, lips parting on a sharp inhale, “I will be gone by morning.”</p><p>Will narrows his eyes and leans forward, pressing his fingertips to the wall on either side of Hannibal and effectively caging him in. This close, Will gets copious amounts of fear-arousal scent rising from Hannibal’s skin with each breath. Shedding blood had done wonders to clear his head, but it still wasn’t enough to completely rid him of the haze of his need.</p><p>“Sending you away will deprive us both,” he says, and Hannibal angles his head down to meet Will’s eyes. He doesn’t quite believe what Will’s saying, squashing the momentary spark of hope that comes to his dark eyes.</p><p>“My school fees then-”</p><p>“Hannibal,” the hard edge returns to Will’s voice; he hadn’t even noticed that it had vanished before.</p><p>Hannibal closes his eyes again, “Divine punishment mirrors the sin being punished,” he’s paraphrasing Dante, of all things, “I took from you. You take from me. <em>Contrapasso</em>.”</p><p>But Will isn’t God, even though he has more money. He shakes his head, stepping back to look at Hannibal clearly. He’s slumped against the wall, as much as someone with his sense of grace is capable.</p><p>“I gave to you, because you asked. I will continue giving to you, so long as you continue asking. Do you understand?”</p><p>Hannibal studies him through narrowed slits, still disbelieving.</p><p>No, Will isn’t God, but hadn't Hannibal once called him the Devil? And what is the Devil, if not an enabler? Will sighs, “List your sins Hannibal, so we may choose the appropriate circle for you to languish in.”</p><p>“I-” he starts, then swallows, head tipping back again as he grips the wall. He grimaces, “Will.” Hannibal rolls his head from side to side against the wall, and before he can stop himself, Will grabs his hair to stop the movement. It brings him dangerously close to Hannibal’s face.</p><p>“I’m listening.”</p><p>Hannibal gives a minute nod, tugging against Will’s fist in his hair, “I took what wasn’t mine.”</p><p>“I would have given him to you for the asking. What you did was take without permission. Yes?”</p><p>“Yes. Please Will, take-”</p><p>“No,” he growls, yanking Hannibal’s head back by his hair, and he makes the most delicious little noise, “I know what it’s like to be denied opportunities because of circumstances beyond your control, I will <em>not</em> take what I’ve given away from you.” An idea strikes him then, <em>enabling</em>, and he grins viciously, “You will go to school, you will earn the respect of your teachers and your peers. You will bring me perfect scores, and when you have your title, you will <em>return to me</em>,” Will nearly hisses, fisting blood into Hannibal’s hair, “I will not bite you, I will not force you, you will do this because I told you to. Does that satisfy you?”</p><p>“Obedience, to prove I am capable of more than rebellion,” Hannibal is rather breathless, but still coherent and it only serves to motivate Will further, “but that isn’t my only crime.”</p><p>Oh, brilliant boy. Will’s smile stretches, dangerous, “Go on.”</p><p>“I assumed-” Will bares his fangs, and Hannibal swallows, “I presumed much about you, when I could have just asked, couldn’t I?”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” Will breathes, “Do you see now, why I am so angry? You were doing so well, right up until you thought me the same as any other simpering omega.”</p><p>“No, no,” Hannibal almost moans, “Not the same. Misguided maybe, scared, but never the same as anyone else. Will,” he pleads, and it tugs at Will, from his heart all the way down to his groin. “I only wanted to alleviate a burden, to free you, one I have been shown does not exist.”</p><p>“And how shall I punish this transgression?” Will pulls Hannibal's head back further, exposing his neck, insinuating a thigh between Hannibal’s and pinning him to the wall by his pelvis.</p><p>Hannibal gasps, “<em>Please</em>.”</p><p>Will is tempted, oh so much. Hannibal arcs so wondrously against him, Will is nearly delirious with it. This is what normal omegas must feel like when in heat, he thinks absently, and the thought is vile enough to push him through the haze.</p><p>“Denial,” he whispers in Hannibal's ear, and the alpha keens. Will smiles tight-lipped, knowing he’s chosen well in punishing them <em>both</em>, for Will deserves punishment for his lapses in control just as much as Hannibal does. He relinquishes his hold on Hannibal’s hair, stepping away with difficulty. His body screams at him to get close to Hannibal again, to taste and touch, and he harnesses his anger in order to move away.</p><p>Hannibal is flushed, panting against the wall, cock straining in his trousers where Will has stained him with blood. It’s a tantalizing sight. Will regards him with a hard stare as he attempts to compose himself.</p><p>“Denial,” Hannibal says, confirming Will’s appropriate choice. It must be agony for Hannibal, a man so used to control having slipped now being denied what he’s slipped for, and because of it. <em>Contrapasso</em> indeed, Dante was right. “How long?” he rasps.</p><p>“Until your studies conclude, and people call you Doctor,” Will cocks his head to the side, cruel smile stretching his lips wide, “or my next heat, whichever comes first. Provided I am pleased with your <em>obedience</em>.” Hannibal groans, fingers digging into the stone behind him.</p><p>They both know that they aren’t putting a courtship on hold, the only stirrings of one seemed to have been one-sided. No, rather, Will is keeping Hannibal in limbo, denying him the consideration he so desperately wants. He is even withholding forgiveness. And when the deadline is up, Will would consider and make his choice; either he would forgive Hannibal, or he would kill him. Nothing more, nothing less.</p><p>Will steps close once again, “Choose wisely. I have a tendency to kill rather than fuck when I’m in heat. As for now,” his voice loses all candor, “I am still angry, and unpredictable, so if I see you while my eyes still shine, I can’t promise you’ll survive this heat, never mind the next one.”</p><p>Hannibal takes Will’s warning to heart, carefully keeping his throat exposed until he’s slipped far enough away that Will can’t grab him. Will watches him with predatory stillness, eyes following the soft spots at his neck until Hannibal ducks his head and flees.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The Hierophant: tradition, what is tried and true is valued.<br/>The Hanged Man, reversed: needless sacrifice, to move forward, one must sometimes take two steps back.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Vitriol</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“There’s no delicate way to say this without sounding like I’m accusing you, Hannibal.”</p><p>Hannibal is quiet for a moment, and then softly asks, “Do you remember our first conversation?”</p><p>Will shrugs, “My need for protection was a sham.”</p><p>“I noticed, though I’m sure you had your reasons. That’s not the part I’m talking about,” he looks over to meet Will’s eyes, “Directness over flattery.”</p><p>Will makes a broken sound that should have been a laugh, “Oh, yeah. Well then, in that spirit,” he repeats the same words as he spoke to Hannibal in the smoke of the Stag so many months ago, “I’ve been having a string of bad luck lately that I can only attribute to a snake in the grass and, since all my misfortune has been coming from one direction, and it’s only been a recent thing…”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Vitriol: biter criticism or malice, sulphuric acid.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The common tribulation when the darling will reveal the truth<br/>
You found your congregation but your proselyte deserted you<br/>
Preaching for atonement and redeeming for the agony<br/>
Fickle siren's song was misleading us in vanity<br/>
<br/>
Desolate the wasteland your kingdom has abandoned you<br/>
Praying for the ashes to mediate between us two<br/>
Inner admiration of a living the unearthly<br/>
When it's you I want we still betting in calamity<br/>
<br/>
There will be another storm<br/>
We will stay here eternally<br/>
All the years I'll hold on cold<br/>
Was it meant always to be here with you?<br/>
<br/>
Twilight in the sky there's a light in the horizon<br/>
The hour's calling by and the sun is slowly rising<br/>
Awaiting intervention when in solace you're the awesome now<br/>
Was sooner in the evening there's no time for contemplation now<br/>
I wait for the sun<br/>
The dawn has begun<br/>
<br/>
All I want is to find a reason, a cause<br/>
Something real, something here<br/>
A reason, a cause<br/>
Always<br/>
<br/>
No more doubts</p><p>-Vitriol-Soen</p><p>**</p><p>With the closing of his book club, Will suddenly finds himself with an open schedule, not that he was keeping one before. Nevertheless, his newly acquired free time leaves him feeling strangely unmoored, with nothing much to distract him from the uninterrupted hours of sitting in front of the fire and <em>thinking</em>.</p><p>It takes Abigail little over a week to forgive him for kicking her out of the basement, sassing him about it and then carrying on like it never happened, and it’s this easy pardoning from her that assures Will she knows nothing of what happened after she left. Will finds her utterly charming in her teenage ways and is glad for her conversation, even more so now that it’s the only conversation that he gets, beyond the almost reverent way everyone else treats him. It’s a little sad, the emperor of such a mighty dynasty at his table for one, his subjects walking on eggshells around him.</p><p>At first, Will is grateful for having more time to himself. He hadn’t realized just how tired he was until he stopped running himself ragged. He rests quite a bit, rebuilding the strength he’d slowly been hemorrhaging for the sake of others. His heat was the final push, he realizes only after it has passed and he sleeps for nearly two days. But after weeks of spending most of his time with himself, even he starts getting tired of his own shit. He takes up some of his old hobbies, hacking with Winston, fishing, but nothing holds his attention for more than a few days. That is until he heads to the Black Stag with its large back room and fighting ring.</p><p>He watches the matches at first, sipping cheap whiskey and shooting shit with some of the regulars. He even places some bets, winning his fair share when his chosen alpha lands a winning hit. It distracts him for a while, but he cannot escape the tug under his ribs, bidding him homewards, to the one person who managed to thaw some semblance of feeling from him. He never stays too long, or too often, until the insistent pull at his breast is too much to bear and he steps into the ring, much to the delight of the crowd. The physicality and the outward pain dull the inside ache for a while, but it never leaves him completely.</p><p>He wishes, not for the first time, for Hannibal’s unobtrusive company, but the alpha had taken Will’s words to heart and thrown himself into his studies, slumping exhausted into the house at ungodly hours only to leave early the next morning, barely rested. Will stares into his empty fire grate, shuffling his pack of cards for want of something to do until he hears Hannibal stagger up the stairs. Only once his footsteps have receded does Will manage to find sleep.</p><p>Hannibal has every third weekend off, two paltry days to recuperate which Will is sorely tempted to use for himself, but abstains. He’s still vehemently displeased at the alpha, disappointment a sharp stab to his gut each time he lays eyes on Hannibal and he knows he’ll only make their sparse time together unpleasant until he manages to calm his seething.</p><p>He seethes now, fingers idly fiddling with the flared corners of his cards as he ponders everything and nothing in the stale air of his office. Hannibal’s scent faded from the space weeks ago, and no one else besides himself has spent long enough in his office to replace it. He flips the top card over to the back of the deck absentmindedly and is pulled from his reverie by the texture of the next card.</p><p>It’s rougher, the edges not as worn, and thicker. Will looks down at it and is faced with a card that doesn’t match the rest of his deck. The next two are also anomalous, but Will recognizes the depictions, some of the oldest designs of picture cards: Temperance, the Tower and the Wheel. Hannibal had given them to Will, citing Will’s evident interest in the art of tarot after Will had given him his calling card at the bank. Hannibal must have bought them at Dello’s that same day.</p><p>It was a gesture Will struggled with, not wanting to read too much into it at first. Now he steadfastly refuses to read anything into it at all, forced as he is to confront the cards by the sheer chance of scooping them out of his top drawer along with his own deck. He also patently ignores any insinuations attached to having doubles of those cards in his deck.</p><p>He slides the cards, three imposters and all, back into place on top of Jack’s file on the Ripper and slams the drawer shut. It seems his sacred hideaway for sentimental knick knacks has turned into a burial for all things de trop. He dons a thin black coat more for propriety than for heat, the autumn air cloying, and takes his hat with him out the door.</p><p>The night is young, and it’s time to blow off some steam.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>The crowd had grown to nearly three times its original size since Will’s return to the ring, an occurrence he attributes more to the daily fights than his presence. Before, matches occurred only a few times a week, but Will’s sanctioning seems to have been taken as enthusiastic approval by the masses.</p><p>The crowd rolls now, cheers and shouts going up as two figures rain blows on one another in the ring. They’re nearly evenly matched and the dispute will be a close one, but Will isn’t watching them. His eyes are on a familiar face, painfully out of place and clearly wary of the crowd it finds itself in.</p><p>A deafening roar goes up, signaling the end of the match. The winner raises his arms as bets are claimed and then someone calls for Will. The crowd catches on, crying out for Will to step into the ring. He smiles bemusedly at those around him, evidently a popular contender, though he suspects it has more to do with the crowd’s lust for a shirtless omega than it is for his fighting. Will doesn’t let the fights last long enough for their tastes, quick and effective bursts of rage to dispatch his opponents, but it’s enough to satisfy Will.</p><p>“How about it, Mr. Graham?”, the self-appointed betting master shouts to the back where Will is standing. The winner of the previous fight is still in the ring, face tense and panting.</p><p>Will shakes his head, the crowd booing. He holds up a hand and they quiet down, “Have mercy, the man hasn’t even caught his breath yet.” The crowd almost snorts in unison at the thought of human limitation.</p><p>Will moves closer to the ring, anticipation building in the faces around him, “When you have your strength back, yeah?” he asks the winner, who relaxes with the knowledge that he isn’t being subjected to another fight so soon. He nods and climbs out of the ring.</p><p>“So no fight tonight, eh?” a grizzled old man asks, swigging back a flask of stinking liquor.</p><p>“Oh no, I’ll fight, on one condition,” Will says, hauling himself out of the crowd and onto the blood-stained floor of the ring, “I get to fight Detective Krendler,” Will crooks his finger in the man’s direction and Krendler pales. He knows there’s danger here, fear written all over his face and Will takes perverse pleasure in it. The offence the crowd takes to his presence has the potential to follow one of two ways and he tries to avoid either by attempting escape, but he’s stopped by the mob around him, hands insistent on his shoulders but not cruel as they keep him in place.</p><p>“N-no,” the alpha stammers, absolutely no sign of his signature arrogance and bravado.</p><p>“Oh, come now Paul. Surely that’s why you’re here? It’s certainly why I am,” Will allows a grin to stretch across his face, tilting his head to the side as he regards Krendler, “Or is Crawford looking for me again?” Will briefly entertains the thought of sending Krendler back to Jack, battered and bloody as an answer to his summons. It could be a wonderful deterrent, or it could bring Jack and all his righteous justice straight to Will’s door.</p><p>Krendler shakes his head minutely.</p><p>“No,” Will agrees, his smile dropping, “If he sent you after me, you’d do what you did last time and go to my house to terrorize my stable hand.”</p><p>The crowd blisters with excitement, now that there’s actual beef to settle, but Krendler resolutely plants his feet on the floor.</p><p>“Boy,” the same old alpha as before yells, “He’s givin’ ya an opportunity to sort this out like men, so get i’the ring unless yer a coward!”</p><p>The grab at his manhood is apparently enough to get Krendler to move, albeit reluctantly. Satisfied that the crowd is guiding him toward the ring, Will turns and strips of everything above the waist, revealing a smattering of small bruises in varying colors around his back and sides. He has one particularly dark cluster on his stomach where he let his opponent hack at him, the pain had concentrated his mind acutely for a blissful few moments until Will kneed the man in the face.</p><p>He takes off his shoes as Krendler steps into the ring, shifting uncomfortably. His face betrays exactly how much he wants to be here, which is not at all.</p><p>“I thought you’d be glad to see me without a shirt,” Will quips and Krendler sneers. There’s noise all around them, bets being placed and it cocoons them in their conversation.</p><p>“Forgive me my reluctance, but seeing as you’ve just outed me as a man of the law in a place like this, I feel it’s earned.”</p><p>Will fights a snort at the words ‘man of the law’, “You’re going to walk out of here alive, Paul, don’t worry so much.”</p><p>“Am I just supposed to take your word for it?” he snaps.</p><p>“Yes,” Will pans. The alpha stares at him like he’s a gutter rat. “I’ll cut you a deal, then, since you’re being such a good sport. I win, and you stop snickering with your partner like children at crime scenes. You win, and I don’t tell Jack Crawford you were here.”</p><p>Krendler blanches for the second time in minutes, swallowing convulsively and then strips off his jacket. The crowd around them lets up a cheer, baying for blood.</p><p>“Rules?” Krendler asks, now shirtless and barefoot to mirror Will. He’s sturdy, and slightly taller than Will, a handsome specimen if one can look past his personality. Will is going to enjoy the lingering aches from this fight for days to come.</p><p>“No biting and no ball-hits. Anything else goes,” Will nearly laughs at the alpha’s pinched frown, “This isn’t the National, Paul, it’s a fist fight.”</p><p>They both look to the betting master where he’s shouting at the crowd, “All right, done!” he turns, giving them a grin, “Happy hittin’, boys!”</p><p>Will curls his fists, flashing his eyes at the alpha across from him. Krendler snarls and falls right into Will’s taunt. He hits hard, aiming for soft spots with the predictable precision of a gentlemanly trained fighter. Will learned to brawl on the streets, can absorb more punishment and get creative.</p><p>But Will doesn’t fight dirty, adapting to his opponent’s style so the fight can last longer, simultaneously toying with Krendler and giving the crowd a show. He lets Krendler land a few hits, building his confidence as Will let’s him block more swings than Will lands. It isn’t long until the rush of blood and violence make Will feel like he’s flying.</p><p>Krendler fights like an alpha, growling and show-offish. He may be trained, but it’s more for short conflicts to subdue a criminal, not for sustained fist fights and his technique bleeds into sloppy movements. Will doesn’t immediately take advantage, but the crowd notices and makes an unbelievable racket, yelling for Will to press his advantage. He knows they’re chomping at the bit to see an agent of the man get a beat down.</p><p>Krendler lands another hit to Will’s face, one Will lets him, and he laughs. Will grins right back at him, teeth covered in his own blood. The punch had power behind it, but not nearly as much as when the fight started; Paul was fatigued.</p><p>“I would have done this sooner, if I knew it was going to be so easy,” he mocks, and it’s exactly what Will’s been waiting for. Winning a fight against a respectable opponent is one thing, but being able to humiliate an idiot, especially after he’s been boastful, holds unique charm.</p><p>Will doesn’t growl, doesn’t even snarl, he just steps into the blatant opening Paul leaves in his defense and ends the fight in two hits; one to the solar plexus and the second to the head. Krendler slumps, falling onto Will’s shoulder just as he’d anticipated. Will holds him up. He might be an asshole but he won’t disrespect his opponent by dropping him to the floor after the fight is done.</p><p>“Winner!” the betting master cries, and Krendler groans in tandem with the roar going up around them. Will pats him on the shoulder until his feet steady and he can stand on his own.</p><p>“I’m looking forward to your disciplinary hearing,” Will says in his ear, and doesn’t that sober the man up. Krendler attempts to stare daggers at Will, at least that’s what Will thinks he’s doing, the knock to his head may have scrambled the alpha’s brain a bit. “Come, I’ll get you a drink,” Will gives his shoulder a final pat and dips out of the ring, snagging his clothes on the way.</p><p>He wonders somewhere in the back of his mind what Hannibal would think of him now, feral and bloody. He’d probably curl his lip at the morons incurring injury for the sake of entertainment, but he’d bear it if Will asked. Will wouldn’t get him in the ring, can’t envision him giving up control like that. Not again.</p><p>Krendler follows Will to the bar where they each nurse a generous amount of whiskey in their battered fists. His face is swelling over his left eye, no way he would be able to hide his bruises or the fact that he actively participated in a fight.</p><p>“You really going to tell Jack?” he mumbles, giving Will the side-eye as he struggles to light a cigarette.</p><p>“Don’t be a dick at a crime scene again and I won’t have to,” Will sips his whiskey, turning around on his stool to face the nearly empty bar floor, most patrons enjoying the show in the back room.</p><p>“You know, I could just report what I saw here tonight. Illegal betting, alcohol, the works,” he sends a plume of smoke to curl against the air.</p><p>“Oh, you could, but I know your presence here hasn’t been sanctioned by anyone,” Will would like to see him try. The Stag has a double-edged reputation as both too small and too dangerous for police to execute a raid. The potential rewards outweighed by the inevitable losses. Will pays the local precinct more than enough to leave his bar alone regardless, and Krendler would incur their wrath if he attempts to take this further. They do so love their bribes.</p><p>“I’ve built cases on less.” the alpha grumbles, “No government defense lawyer would take your case.”</p><p>“Perhaps,” Will smiles, amused and falsely benevolent, an expression he’s borrowed from Hannibal, “But just remember, I know police procedure, and I can afford private counsel. If you pursue this, you won’t have a career at the end of it. So be nice, and we can put this behind us.”</p><p>The grizzled alpha from before comes stumbling into the bar, grinning as he claps Krendler on the shoulder, “You won me a good amount of money, son!”</p><p>“Go easy on him, he’s still green,” Will says.</p><p>“Ha! You young’ins…” the man mutters as he waves behind him, stumbling out the door. Will watches him go with a wry little grin.</p><p>“You know what the best part of this is?” he asks, leaning over slightly to Krendler, eyes still on the door, “You won’t be able to step foot in this neighborhood again without everyone knowing you’re a cop.”</p><p>Will stands then, emptying his whiskey down his throat and taps his tumbler on the bar. He smiles innocently at Krendler’s stunned face as he dons his coat, “Goodnight, Paul. It’s been fun.”</p><p>Will leaves him at the bar, feeling lighter than air. The insistent tug in his chest turns into a pleasant curl the closer he gets to home. It’s well after midnight when he walks through the door and Hannibal should already be asleep, it’s one of his off weekends if Will recalls correctly.</p><p>It doesn’t occur to him why Krendler was in the Black Stag in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>Will sleeps in as much as he can, but the sun wakes him earlier than he’d wish. He prepares for the day slowly, muscles pulling tight with the pleasant ache of exertion as he examines new bruises blooming over old ones.</p><p>Hannibal isn’t in the kitchen as Will let himself hope and it seems he’s doomed to another day with naught but his own thoughts. He isn’t particularly keen on rotting indoors, so he busies himself with little bits of business nonsense out in the bay, seeing to shipments and products that his underbosses are, in fact, in control of. Will feels slightly better than useless as he takes the long way home, alone.</p><p>The feeling is pushed to the very back of his mind, however, when Peter ambushes him the moment he steps out of the car, panicking and barely getting his words out, “Come quick. He’s lost his mind.” He rushes ahead of Will to the hallway behind the kitchen and Will’s heart seizes.</p><p>Garret has an arm around Abigail, holding her back to him as he whispers in her ear, but what makes Will pause is the knife he holds to her throat. There’s an open envelope and a letter on the floor near their feet.</p><p>“Hobbs,” Will warns, hand itching for the holster under his jacket, glad to have his gun on him.</p><p>“He can’t have her!” Garret barks, fear and desperation ringing clear. Abigail whimpers.</p><p>“Who can’t have her?”</p><p>“Verger,” the alpha growls, clutching his daughter tight, “She’s mine.”</p><p>“Yes she is, and I won’t let anyone take her from you, you know that.”</p><p>“Liar. He got to your woman, your promises mean <em>nothing!</em>”</p><p>Will steadies himself on his feet, “So you’ll deprive yourself of her, as long as no one else can get to her.” Will grips the butt of his gun, tensing.</p><p>“Yes,” Garret hisses, “but I’ll still have her. We’re going, together,” Will sees the moment the back of his eyes fall away, the knife drawn across his daughter’s throat. He doesn’t complete the arc, slashing only one side as Will puts a bullet in his shoulder.</p><p>Before Will can get to where father and daughter fall, Garret puts the knife into his own heart.</p><p>Will drops his gun, clasping at the fountain of blood at Abigail’s neck, “No, no. Hang on, oh please no,” he presses harder, but the blood keeps flowing, thick and warm in his palm and over his fingers. Will sucks in a breath, and shouts as loud as he can, “Hannibal!”</p><p>He doesn’t know how many times he calls for Hannibal, but his voice is raw when a familiar pair of hands push him aside to create a more effective seal around the wound.</p><p>“I need something to stop the bleeding.”</p><p>Will stares numbly, not comprehending.</p><p>“Peter, bring the car around.”</p><p>Whoever is speaking sounds far away, or perhaps underwater. Will watches the trickle of blood at Abigail’s neck, snugly held in strong fingers, mesmerized.</p><p>“Will!” his head snaps up, “Get a dish towel,” Hannibal’s voice cuts through the fog for an instant and Will scrambles to the kitchen.</p><p>Hannibal wraps the dish towel around Abigail’s neck and replaces his hands as a tourniquet. He keeps her head steady, speaking to her in soothing tones in between instructions on how to move her into the car, all the way to the hospital. Will focusses on Hannibal’s face, the way he methodically checks Abigail’s breathing, in an effort to stay present, but in his memory everything is a blur.</p><p>Will snaps back into his body with the shut of the hospital door behind him. Abigail is in the middle of the theatre, obscured in a halo of white coats. Hannibal stands out in his suit jacket until he removes it, and he blends back into the huddle. Will hears his voice dimly and a nurse hands him a shining instrument from a tray to the side. He says something else and the crowd around Abigail dissipates enough that Hannibal and two other doctors can work. Will sees her face briefly, her eyes are closed, blood spattered up one cheek.</p><p>The sight twists cruelly at his insides and Will knows he should leave before he jumps into the thicket of white coats just so he can <em>do</em> something.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>Will is sitting hunched over his knees in an otherwise empty hallway when Hannibal finds him. His jaw has been clenched for so long, he can taste blood between his teeth, his hands working themselves in and out of fists as he stares at the wall opposite.</p><p>“She’s not out of the woods yet, but there’s nothing more we can do,” Hannibal says.</p><p>Will nods once, swallows as he actively relaxes his hands. He sits back against the wall, stretching out his legs but doesn’t look at Hannibal, even when the alpha shifts subtly on his feet. The movement is too contained to be classically nervous, but Will knows.</p><p>“She’s a strong girl, Will.”</p><p>“I know,” Will’s voice is rough and he works his jaw, “Sit down.”</p><p>Hannibal sinks to the cold floor next to him, close enough to scent but not to touch. He smells faintly of blood, overlaid with cold water and soap, but mostly he smells tired. It’s comforting in exactly the way Will needs. Will suspects he smells much the same, the whole ordeal simultaneously taking years and seconds to be over, and he feels acutely the bruises littering his body. They sit in silence for long minutes, his mind ticking over the words he knows he needs to speak.</p><p>Will opens his mouth and all the air leaves his lungs in one long gust. He tips his head back to stare at the ceiling, “There’s no delicate way to say this without sounding like I’m accusing you, Hannibal.”</p><p>Hannibal is quiet for a moment, and then softly asks, “Do you remember our first conversation?”</p><p>Will shrugs, “My need for protection was a sham.”</p><p>“I noticed, though I’m sure you had your reasons. That’s not the part I’m talking about,” he looks over to meet Will’s eyes, “Directness over flattery.”</p><p>Will makes a broken sound that should have been a laugh, “Oh, yeah. Well then, in that spirit,” he repeats the same words as he spoke to Hannibal in the smoke of the Stag so many months ago, “I’ve been having a string of bad luck lately that I can only attribute to a snake in the grass and, since all my misfortune has been coming from one direction, and it’s only been a recent thing…” Will doesn’t want to suspect Hannibal, it burns like acid in his gut and truthfully, he can’t fathom Hannibal doing this to him. But he’s been blind where it comes to Hannibal before, so he has to know, if only to confirm something he desperately hopes isn’t true.</p><p>“The natural conclusion is that I am the snake, and I have another master to whom I answer.”</p><p>“You are the only variable in my house between these past few months and the years before.” Hannibal opens his mouth to speak again, only to be cut off as Will continues, “So I have to ask, did you know Margot was pregnant?”</p><p>“I knew she was planning on having a child to displace her brother as the family heir, yes. I did not know she was successful.”</p><p>“Did you know I was the father?”</p><p>The look on Hannibal’s face answers that question for him, eyes going wide and jaw snapping shut. Will doesn’t know if what he’s feeling is relief, if he’s feeling anything at all. Hannibal’s lips part, tongue working over his bottom lip, “Was?” he chokes out eventually.</p><p>Will turns back to the wall in front of him, “Mason found out. Snake or no snake, this is my fault.”</p><p>“Will,” Hannibal starts.</p><p>“I was reckless,” Will sighs a hard breath through his nose. He thinks of his actions the last few months, how heedless of consequences they have been. The confidence he’d had in his abilities, now shattered. Will is more than capable of picking himself up off the floor, has done so many times in the past, but it wasn’t just him this time. “First Margot and now Abigail,” Will blinks away the tears brimming in his eyes. He’s been throwing himself into fistfights almost every day now, for fuck’s sake, there’s no room on his skin for self-depreciation.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Will.”</p><p>“No you’re not,” Hannibal looks offended, frowning indignantly, “I know you. You’re probably glad, you possessive bastard.”</p><p>“Despite what you think of me, I know life is precious.”</p><p>“Is that why you eat people?” Will muses. Hannibal doesn’t answer beside him, apart from the clicking of a compulsive swallow in the silence.</p><p>It might be the shock still coursing through his system, but Will feels hollow. There’s nothing inside him save darkness, and it’s spilling out of his mouth and eyes to drown everyone around him.</p><p>Everyone but Hannibal, that is. His is a creature naturally adapted to the dark to the point of reveling in it.</p><p>“I sought to spare you all this, because of what I thought of you.”</p><p>“I hardly need your concern-”</p><p>Will hisses between his teeth, and Hannibal obediently shuts his mouth, “<em>Thought of</em>. Until you so helpfully showed me how wrong I was. I don’t know who I’m more angry with, you for attempting to lure me, or myself for being so goddamn blind.” Will thinks back to the evening in the basement, drenched in red, and, so it seems, does Hannibal.</p><p>“Tell me to leave so you never have to see my face again.”</p><p>“I told you before that’s not what I want,” Will’s voice cracks.</p><p>“Then tell me what to do. I...I hate seeing you so distressed.”</p><p>Will is quiet, working through the overwhelming blanket of apathy. In the end, it's the memory of Hannibal’s deceit that sparks his anger once again, but the anger at his own failings surges like a wave and overwhelms all others.</p><p>“It’s funny, how keen you were to corrupt me before, and now this. It’s a little pathetic, Hannibal.”</p><p>“Will, please.”</p><p>“I’m going to oblige you, but you are going to <em>follow me</em>. I hope you’re prepared, Hannibal, there is no coming back once you dive into this with me,” Will meets Hannibal’s eyes with a hard stare. He doesn’t wait for any sign that Hannibal is indeed prepared, instinctually knowing he’s on board, “Firstly, I didn’t ask you to burn yourself out, so stop trying.”</p><p>Hannibal scoffs a little sardonically.</p><p>“Secondly,” Will says as he stands. He reaches down to help Hannibal to his feet, “I need to solicit your professional opinion.”</p><p>Hannibal pulls his mouth in what should be a smile, clouded over by exhaustion and more than a little trepidation, “I am at your service,” he reluctantly lets go of Will’s hand, straightening out his jacket.</p><p>They head to where Abigail is ensconced, almost as pale as the hospital sheets. Her brow is clammy and her breathing shallow, but she’s alive. Will sits next to her bed for a long time, staring at the bulletin board advertising the hospital’s annual midwinter event until his eyes cross. He knows she’s not going to wake up for a while yet, but when she does, he has every intention of sending her as far away from himself as possible.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Temperance: balance, patience, meaning, androgyny.<br/>The Tower: disaster, pride, lightening.<br/>The Wheel of Fortune: inevitable fate, cycles, destiny.<br/>Make of these what you will.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Orison</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“How would you prefer to be introduced?”</p><p>Will blinks at the question, memory throwing him back to the flashing of dollar signs when he was introduced to some well-to-do alpha, more interested in his family name than anything else. He doubts anyone here would recognise it, but it's a risk he’d rather not take. Besides, he’s become rather accustomed to being anonymous, and he’s curious as to the role Hannibal would choose for him, “I don’t prefer.”</p><p>“Most will conclude that you are with me, given no other information,” Hannibal says mildly.</p><p>Will shrugs, “It’s a reasonable conclusion,” with enough wiggle room to remain tantalizingly vague, “How would you prefer to be introduced?”</p><p>“Only how you would allow me to be, beyond what my peers and instructors already know of me,” he says with a smile, apparently having caught up to some of the games Will likes to play with him in public. He thinks of the woman in the line at the bank, the omegan clerk, what sort of conclusions they drew. Oh, this is going to be fun.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Orison: a prayer.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div>
  <p>Wash off your sins<br/>Bound by the burden of the grief that's found within<br/>Drowned in a sea of sorrow bound to learn to swim<br/>Wash off your sins</p>
  <p>Since you were born<br/>A flake of a broken soul who never would endure<br/>Shaped by the ills of fate that always felt unsure<br/>Since you were born</p>
  <p>In your eyes, I<br/>Could see a loathing for the truth<br/>You are burning within</p>
  <p>Dead you are<br/>A yearning for eternal life<br/>A longing for a sacrifice<br/>Praying for the end of time<br/>As the curtain falls</p>
  <p>Under the cross<br/>The revelations of a narcissistic mind<br/>Harbored resentment for the joys of humankind<br/>Under the cross</p>
  <p>Wake up<br/>And pull out the thorns from your heart<br/>Wake up<br/>or sleep with the damned</p>
  <p>Words hard to forgive<br/>When we fall from grace</p>
</div><p>-Orison-Soen</p><p>**</p><p>Will taps the letter on his desk, retrieved from the floor beside Garret’s body. It was clever, threats disguised as somewhat whimsical philosophical wonderings, vagaries only to be understood by specific people. It preyed upon insecurities and, as Garret was barely stable, the letter had an easy enough time sending him over the edge.</p><p>Alana shifts in her chair facing the fire as Will hands her the letter, taking the other chair himself. Her eyes skim over it quickly and then return to the top to read it once more, slowly. Whoever Mason’s snake is, they know Will’s household well enough to let Mason press on a very sore point. And he didn’t even hide the fact that it was him, signing the letter with a cheerful ‘Love, Mr. Verger.’</p><p>Alana makes a disconcerting sound, “We can take this to the police-”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Will-”</p><p>“Even if the police could prove that Mason sent it, and not some nutcase, I don’t think involving them is our best option,” <em>it’s not an option</em> Will doesn’t say, because like hell is going to let those assholes into his affairs.</p><p>“Don’t you think Abigail deserves some justice-” she starts, breaking off with a shake of her head, “Having the law run its course is the only option Margot and I have left,” she says softly.</p><p>“If the law wasn’t protecting Mason,” Will spits, “It would take far too long to dispense justice.”</p><p>“Then what do you propose?” Alana gives Will a flinty stare, firelight reflected in her eyes, “That Margot try again?” her voice garners an edge, “You can’t seriously expect her-”</p><p>“No,” Will stares back at the fire, guilt coiling in his gut, “That entire idea was doomed to fail from the start. I saw Molson Verger’s will, the heir needs to be legitimate in the eyes of the law.” The will had come to him by chance, in a pile of documents regarding Mason, helpfully supplied by cashing in on a favor.</p><p>Alana deflates, the letter hanging limp in her hand. She shakes her head after a moment, “Don’t-don’t tell Margot, she’ll be heartbroken. Even more than she is now.”</p><p>“I won’t.” He feels shit enough about the whole situation, without having to hurt Margot more than his failure already has.</p><p>“Dammit. So, what, she needs to marry you for it to work?”</p><p>Will smiles a little sardonically at Alana, “You think her family would approve?”</p><p>She pokes his nose with the letter, “I’m being serious, Will.”</p><p>“I don’t think that’s going to work either-”</p><p>“Are you going to shoot down every idea-”</p><p>“Margot can’t do anything against her family’s wishes, not anymore, they’d see through it. She’s always been the obedient child and they’ll be watching her closely to make sure she doesn’t act out again,” Will pauses, making sure to meet Alana’s eyes, “But <em>Mason</em>, on the other hand.”</p><p>Alana stares at him with her mouth slightly parted for a moment, and then she shuts it, “Oh.”</p><p>“I think you know what you need to do,” Will says, and he wants to vomit. This is the last thing he’d wish on his friend and it’s coiling acid in his stomach.</p><p>Alana pinches her eyes closed, shaking her head minutely, “He’s, uhm, he’s very particular about that sort of thing,” she whispers. Will knows exactly what he’s referring to, Mason’s proclivities run into the most heinously depraved, with the added benefit of not leaving any of the <em>boys</em> with child.</p><p>Will stands to retrieve something from his desk. Alana’s mouth is turned down, but she looks determined as he exchanges the letter for a small vial, “I have it on good authority that this won’t impede his lower functions, only his higher ones. He’ll be very suggestable,” he curls her fingers over the glass and holds her fist in his own hand, “Don’t use more than half at a time or you’ll run the risk of him being unconscious. It should be enough for two attempts. Then there’s the issue of this whole thing being admissible. I doubt Mason will be shamed into marrying you by his family if the truth comes out, so I have a marriage certificate and an officiate willing to swear on its authenticity. Can you get him to sign it?” Alana nods.</p><p>Will releases her hand, and she cradles the drug to her chest, “And what then? Even if I manage, he won’t let this slide, Will.”</p><p>“Don’t worry about any of that, alright? As soon as you have what you need, get as far away from Mason as you can,” he sits again.</p><p>“I’ll have him do both at the same time, hopefully,” she wipes at her eyes, sniffing, “What are going to-”</p><p>“Don’t ask. It’s better if you don’t know.”</p><p>She looks at him like she’s never seen him before.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Alana,” he says softly.</p><p>“There’s nothing to be done for it, but I am too.” It feels like forgiveness. Culpability sits like a sinker in Will’s stomach. “I’m sorry about this whole thing getting in the way of you and Hannibal, too.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>They stare at each other until Alana bursts, “Are you blind?”</p><p>“Alana, what are you talking about?” Will is genuinely perplexed.</p><p>“Are you serious? You don’t see the way he looks at you? I’ve been beating myself up about asking for your help since the beginning, because I didn’t want to ruin whatever it is you two had, but I guess it did,” she looks moderately indignant.</p><p><em>Oh.</em> That.</p><p>Will doesn’t want to talk about this.</p><p>“You can’t be this stupid, Will,” she huffs, “He likes you!”</p><p>“Yes, I noticed,” he bites out. He had noticed the longing looks, and the timing of them makes it more than likely that they're only Hannibal’s attempt at groveling.</p><p>Alana’s face loosens, “What happened?”</p><p>“He did something he shouldn’t have,” he holds up a hand to preempt her next question, “No, I am not going to elaborate.”</p><p>Alana falls back in her chair, “Another thing I’m better off ignorant about. Margot was right, I don’t know you at all.”</p><p>“Alana-”</p><p>She sighs, resignation clear on her face, “So I guess I won’t be seeing you at the benefit.”</p><p>Will gives her a quizzical look, “You have got to stop speaking in riddles.”</p><p>Alana snorts, “It’s not a riddle. Johns Hopkins hosts the biggest children’s benefit on the eastern seaboard every year. Staff and students are invited.”</p><p>Will vaguely remembers the bulletin board advertising just such a thing, “Hannibal never mentioned it.”</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>“Hannibal.”</p><p>Will knows he’s been heard, but the alpha pretends otherwise, carrying on with whatever it is he’s doing, his back to Will.</p><p>“You’re supposed to be resting.”</p><p>Hannibal slowly puts down the knife, raising his head but not turning to where Will stands in the doorway. He doesn’t say anything.</p><p>“I distinctly remember telling you not to burn yourself out.”</p><p>“I highly doubt-”</p><p>“Oh save it. You were nearly dead on your feet, you can spend a few days doing nothing.”</p><p>“The Devil finds work for idle hands,” he muses lightly.</p><p>“Are you talking about me now?”</p><p>“Perhaps,” Hannibal sounds amused.</p><p>Will comes around the kitchen island to stand across from him. With his hair loose over his forehead and the corners of his mouth tilted up, he looks young. He also looks like he’s trying to avoid something. Will is sympathetic, and at least Hannibal’s method of keeping busy is a lot saner than Will’s own, though he doesn’t think cooking enough for an army is going to solve anything.</p><p>But neither did fist fighting, and Will knows it's futile to ask a workaholic to take a day off, “Who are you planning on feeding, with all this?”</p><p>Hannibal takes in the near overstocked kitchen with a sense of detachment. He doesn’t even shrug, just looks back at Will, “Everyone eats, Will.”</p><p>He supposes that’s true. When Will doesn’t say anything more, Hannibal goes back to slicing. Will watches him scrape the meat into a large pot on the range and then continue with the next piece. From intricate and breathtaking displays to eating people, Hannibal must have a truly interesting past, and Will wonders at it. He knows it’s not people going into the stew, Hannibal hasn’t had the time and Hobbs isn’t stocking the pantry any longer.</p><p>Will suddenly has the urge to push, so he does, “Did you enjoy feeding him to me?”</p><p>The knife clatters. Hannibal doesn’t look up.</p><p>“Hannibal.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Yes, what?”</p><p>“Yes, I enjoyed it.”</p><p>Will lets Hannibal simmer in the discomfort of his perceived slight. The truth of the matter is, Will is indifferent to where the meat comes from, though Hannibal’s preparation has far superseded any attempts made before.</p><p>No reprimand forthcoming, Hannibal tentatively takes up the knife, “Two more weeks, Will,” the blade meets the cutting board rhythmically, “until the solstice, and I will be out of your kitchen and back at my studies.”</p><p>“Do you enjoy making me repeat myself?” Will bites, “I would have told you if there was a problem with you using my kitchen.”</p><p>“Then what is?” Hannibal pauses in his work to look at Will.</p><p>The problem is that Hannibal has taken his forced time off from his studies, for bereavement after the attempt on Abigail, as punishment. The problem is that Hannibal is trying to distract himself. <em>The problem is</em>, the thing that Will finds the hardest to admit, is that he’d like to be the thing to distract Hannibal. Despite what Hannibal has done, Will can’t help himself.</p><p>Wait-the solstice? Back at his studies? “You’re not going to the hospital thing? The benefit?”</p><p>“No,” he says to the cutting board, shoulder working up and down.</p><p>“And who told you not to go?”</p><p>Hannibal looks nearly frightened as he meets Will’s eyes, his mouth slightly parted. He shutters the expression a moment later, straightening up behind the island, “No one, as far as I am aware.”</p><p>“Then why aren’t you going? It seems like something you’d like.”</p><p>Hannibal attempts to busy himself with something on the cutting board, “What I would like is irrelevant, there are no more tickets left.”</p><p>“Surely they won’t refuse a donor,” Will says wryly, much to Hannibal’s consternation.</p><p>“That is hardly decent,” he says, frowning.</p><p>“Oh like you’d be above buying yourself into fancy events if you had the means,” Will teases, and Hannibal’s jaw ticks, “I’m the head of a criminal enterprise, Hannibal, I don’t care much for decent.”</p><p>“Thank the stars then, that at least one of us does,” he quips. It draws a delightedly wicked smile from Will that makes Hannibal wary. He should be, Will is planning something.</p><p>The benefit had been floating in the back of Will’s mind for weeks without any apparent reason, until now. Will knows his decision to go is impulsive, but he is at his heart, an impulsive creature.</p><p>“Well, for someone who cares so much about being decent, you hardly have an appropriate suit for the event.”</p><p>“What about you?” Hannibal fires back quickly.</p><p>Will shrugs, “You have a better sense of style than I do, find me something appropriate.” Will moves to leave the kitchen.</p><p>“Are you asking me to choose what you’ll wear?”</p><p>Will pauses in the door. “No. I’m telling you to.”</p><p>He doesn’t have to turn around to see Hannibal’s spine straightening. Will leaves the kitchen satisfied that Hannibal has been sufficiently distracted from his self-imposed penance, idle hands having found work by the Devil.</p><p>Hannibal is rifling through his closet later in the evening, Will can hear him through the bathroom wall, which is why he cuts his bath time in half to conveniently walk in on the alpha, wearing nothing but a towel and heat-pink skin. He is rewarded by Hannibal flushing nearly the same shade as he is, attempting to hide it beneath a frown as he criticizes Will’s clothing.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Will asks lightly, his back to Hannibal as he pretends to ready his sleepwear.</p><p>“Attempting the impossible,” Hannibal snipes.</p><p>Will twists to look over his shoulder, noting the severe line of Hannibal’s broad shoulders, “Any luck?”</p><p>Hannibal sighs, hands pausing over the various garments Will never wears. Will is going to enjoy the sweet torture of finding Hannibal’s lingering scent on his clothes for the next few days., “There won’t be a tailor in this city already inundated with work for the upcoming benefit, so we will have to make do with other options.”</p><p>Will turns back to his rumpled shirt, smiling, “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>The days preceding the winter solstice are cold and grey, highlighted only by the conniption Abigail has when she finds out Will is sending her to her grandparents. She has tears in her eyes, but she hugs Will tightly before being spirited away.</p><p>After that, Will only has Alana left to worry about. Her, and how the hell he’s supposed to survive an entire evening being sociable when he hasn’t done so in years.</p><p>Hannibal manages to find something appropriate in Will’s closet after all, formalwear Will had forgotten he owned. Will isn’t surprised to see that the clothes are still in fashion, omegan styles being much slower to change than others. The forest green wraparound fits slightly tighter than memory serves, feeling more like a corset. It’s a garment more appropriate for the evening than Will’s previous wraparound, the high neck covering much more skin and providing a backdrop for a collar. Will doesn’t have one; he’s not bonded.</p><p>He meets Hannibal in the foyer, the man dressed in a smartly cut dark suit with a deep green tie. It’s not exactly the same shade as what Will is wearing, but enough so that they match if Will would like them to. It’s obvious Hannibal is leaving that choice to Will, but Will is going to leave it in the air unless forced to choose, so he says nothing. He takes in Hannibal’s reaction to his severely neatened curls instead.</p><p>“How do I look?” he asks, just to be a shit. He doesn’t expect a response, other than the little intake of breath and mildly dazed look Hannibal gives him.</p><p>The silence only lasts so long, Hannibal regaining his wits in time to ambush Will with questions when they’re in the car, where he can’t get away.</p><p>“I assume you have an agenda for this evening?”</p><p>Will hums, “Not particularly.” He doesn’t bother telling Hannibal to play ignorant if they see Alana, he knows enough not to risk her already precarious safety.</p><p>He feels more than sees Hannibal’s glance from behind the wheel, “Why the short notice in attending? Forgive me, but you haven’t exactly shown interest in events such as this before.”</p><p>Will doesn’t answer, watching the city go by in the nighttime.</p><p>“Are you apprehensive, Will?”</p><p>Will turns sharply, “Do I seem apprehensive?”</p><p>“You’re quiet. I could provide pointers, if you’d like. Formal events needn’t be daunting-”</p><p>“I’m no more quiet than usual,” he cuts off. He’s been contemplative, and Hannibal has picked up on it, “I’ve been to <em>events</em> before,” he quips, “I’ll be fine.”</p><p>“Alright,” Hannibal pauses only for a moment, apparently incapable of restraining himself, “How would you prefer to be introduced?”</p><p>Will blinks at the question, memory throwing him back to the flashing of dollar signs when he was introduced to some well-to-do alpha, more interested in his family name than anything else. He doubts anyone here would recognize it, but it's a risk he’d rather not take. Besides, he’s become rather accustomed to being anonymous, and he’s curious as to the role Hannibal would choose for him, “I don’t prefer.”</p><p>“Most will conclude that you are with me, given no other information,” Hannibal says mildly.</p><p>Will shrugs, “It’s a reasonable conclusion,” with enough wiggle room to remain tantalizingly vague, “How would you prefer to be introduced?”</p><p>“Only how you would allow me to be, beyond what my peers and instructors already know of me,” he says with a smile, apparently having caught up to some of the games Will likes to play with him in public. He thinks of the woman in the line at the bank, the omegan clerk, what sort of conclusions they drew. Oh, this is going to be fun.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>This is going to be dreadful.</p><p>Will should have foreseen this. It’s a public event, for fuck’s sake, of course there won’t be any alcohol. But someone is going to sneak something in under their clothes sooner or later, and if it isn’t him, he can name a few people.</p><p>Will regularly delivers to almost all the politicians in the room, with their bejeweled wives and thinly veiled hypocrisy. It’s a familiar spiel, one city’s rich people flaunting their money much the same as the next.</p><p>Heads turn as they enter the opulent space, cavernous and bright, a few with recognition not for Will, but for Hannibal. One man detaches himself to cross the floor with a cheerful, “Hannibal!”</p><p>The first thing Will notices is the hair, slightly lighter than his own, but unruly. Then he sees the man’s eyes, bluer than Will’s are unshining. He’s alpha, slightly taller, but the resemblance is unmistakable, and Hannibal stiffens beside him. Will tilts his face to Hannibal, like he’s acquiescing to the alpha’s direction, but raises a brow that only Hannibal can see.</p><p>Hannibal barely glances at him, shoulders held tight, “Anthony, it’s good to see you.”</p><p>The doppelganger grins, gesturing with the glasses cupped in each hand, “I would shake your hand, but I was lucky enough to find one of the more expedient busboys.”</p><p>Will wonders if it’s his own stock of liquor running underground here, though the faint yellow tinge and the bubbles make that unlikely. “Champagne?” he asks.</p><p>Anthony turns his grin on Will, charming and flirtatious in a way Will finds slightly annoying, “I could get you some.”</p><p>“I’m more of a whiskey kinda guy,” Will says lightly. Hannibal looks faintly amused at Anthony’s antics, one side of his mouth slightly curled up but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Will wonders how much Hannibal is restraining his fondness for the cheeky alpha now that Will is present. His expression morphs into something that holds slightly more respect, an ice cold woman joining their circle.</p><p>“Hannibal,” she husks, blonde tresses falling over her shoulders. Will is impressed by her elegance, her control as she lifts her hand for Hannibal to kiss. The other holds a glass with the same pale bubbly as Anthony.</p><p>“Dr. Du Maurier,” Hannibal sounds almost reverent, and Will barely restrains the instinctive narrowing of his eyes. The restraint stretches further than he intends, but he doesn’t stop it from causing him to observe Hannibal’s interactions as an outsider. He wonders who, between Dr. Du Maurier and Anthony, Hannibal would rather fuck, if he hasn’t done so already. He doesn’t wonder which one Hannibal would rather eat, knows it would be both of them; Dr. Du Maurier for her attitude of total disregard, and Anthony for being impertinent.</p><p>“This is Will,” Hannibal says, drawing Will back down from his crow’s nest to the deck of the conversation. He’s tense, worried, and Will shoots him a quizzical look that asks <em>can we discuss this later?</em> He takes the doctor’s hand in turn, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles as she says, “Bedelia, please.”</p><p>Another young alpha joins them in the time Will takes to lower his own hand, taking up the opposite space beside Hannibal. This one sticks his hand out for Hannibal to shake, but ignores Will with practiced ease. He’s introduced as a fellow student, but Will doesn’t pay attention to his name. There’s small talk that Will stays out of, another alpha joining them and the ritual repeats until there's a veritable crowd around Hannibal. Will isn’t surprised, he’s a charming man, but some of the crowd are more adoring toward Bedelia.</p><p>“What do you teach, doctor?” Will asks her, putting two and two together.</p><p>“Neuroanatomy. That is, anatomy of the brain and nervous system.”</p><p>“A challenging subject,” Hannibal interjects, and the student body titters.</p><p>“And yet you managed near perfect scores in all your tests,” Bedelia says with a smidgen of warmth in her tone.</p><p>“Near perfect?” Will asks. Hannibal stiffens minutely beside him, again.</p><p>“I am not easy to please,” she says, voice returning to it’s indifferent frost.</p><p>“Neither am I,” Will says to her, carefully glancing at Hannibal, the alpha’s cheeks gaining a rosy tint. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Hannibal’s peers.</p><p>“I do hope you’ll consider my offer, Hannibal,” Bedelia carries on regardless, and the image her words conjure, of her and Hannibal twisted together, sends a hot flare through Will. “I cannot imagine what it is that’s holding you back from accepting the position.”</p><p>“Will?” Hannibal asks, a small frown of concern marring his otherwise expectant expression. Bedelia glances at him as well.</p><p>“You got offered Sutcliffe’s post?” one of their audience exclaims, prompting disbelieving whispers to abound. Hannibal hasn’t mentioned the job offering before, but he’s asking now, and who is Will to deny him an answer?</p><p>“Would you like to?” Will murmurs, quiet enough for only Hannibal to hear.</p><p>“I was not aware our deal was subject to change,” he demurs.</p><p>“You must enjoy making me repeat myself,” Will says, nearly incredulous, to Hannibal’s widening eyes. His tone betrays nothing but exasperation, but Hannibal can hear the undertone. “If you want something, you ask for it,” <em>And preferably not where I am put on the spot</em> his tight furious expression conveys. The simmer of possession in his chest flares up once again as Will addresses Bedelia coolly, “While I am gratified to hear Hannibal is doing what he’s told, I’d prefer him to return to me once he’s trained.”</p><p>A beat of silence, and then the same interrupter scoffs, “Isn’t your omega supposed to do what you tell him?”</p><p>“I am no one’s omega,” Will looks the alpha in the eye, so smoothly and completely unexpected, the man very nearly takes a step back, “I am Hannibal’s patron. And I am as exacting as I am generous. Now, I think I need a drink. Excuse me.”</p><p>“Will,” Hannibal breathes, but Will has whirled around and left him wide-eyed and slack-jawed in favor of pursuing the poorly concealed pouring of alcohol by one of the busboys.</p><p>Behind him, Anthony lets out a low whistle, and then Will is too far to hear the rest of the conversation.</p><p>The evening can only get better from here on out, Will thinks, just as the universe proves him wrong.</p><p>He’s intercepted in his quest for booze as someone grabs his arm and pulls him to their chest, in the throng of the dance floor. Will tenses immediately, but the conditioning in his youth makes him relax into the natural rhythm of the music.</p><p>It isn’t strange for an unbonded omega to be occupied by courtiers during an event such as these, especially one without any other claiming signs, as Will conveniently is. Will is not rude enough to remove himself from the alpha’s grasp in the middle of a dance, right until he scents who it is that has him in arms.</p><p>“Hello, Mr. Verger,” Will keeps his voice neutral, tilting his chin subtly in a bid to angle his teeth to Mason’s throat. He and his sister share a similar base to their scents, but Mason’s is altogether unpleasant.</p><p>“O-oh, no,” Mason says, shoving Will so there’s too much space between them for Will to quickly latch onto his neck. From the outside they merely appear as strangers dancing for the first time. Will thinks about his father’s knife, in his coat pocket all the way across the room. “Keep those away from me, I’m not the bonding type.” Will isn’t surprised by Mason’s reaction; he’s a wealthy heir, and therefore in demand to any hopeful society omega.</p><p>“I’ll bet,” Will barely keeps himself from glaring as they move around the room, casting his gaze around to find Hannibal instead.</p><p>“Are you a betting man, Mr. Graham?” Mason has a grating voice, Will would very much like to bite it out, but he has to spare the man until Alana has what she needs.</p><p>“Betting implies uncertainty at the outcome, and hope that you’ve chosen well despite the odds against you.”</p><p>“Have the odds been in your favor then, that you don’t place stock on betting?”</p><p>“Never,” Will bites, “I wasn’t born with the finest silverware up my ass.”</p><p>“Then you’re certain of the outcome,” Mason sneers.</p><p>“I would be foolish otherwise. I have the best competitor.”</p><p>Will knows they’re not only talking about race horses, here, Mason’s next words all but confirming it.</p><p>“Speaking of, you should lease him out to stud. I have a very promising filly.”</p><p>This is almost like talking to Hannibal, where innuendo and double meanings abound, only Hannibal has infinitely more class than to talk about others in such a derogatory fashion.</p><p>“Or have you already?” Mason says in a knowing tone of voice, and Will has to stifle a growl at the unpleasant curl it sends across his skin. He nearly wrenches himself away as the dance ends and they stop near a circle of people watching with beady eyes. Must be some of Mason’s friends. Alana is in the mix, looking strained, and Will ignores her.</p><p>“I have not, though I am reluctant to take husbandry advice from a man who hasn’t yet proven himself capable of breeding,” Will says loud enough for others to hear. He shouldn’t even have bothered, Mason’s next words proving he truly has no shame.</p><p>“Perhaps I’m only waiting for the right foundation mare, but I’m not above experimenting.” Will could read between the lines; Mason was propositioning him without directly asking, an avenue of domination rather than anything romantic.</p><p>“I will be second wife to none, thank you, Mr. Verger,” Will quips, attempting to pull the hand Mason has clasped out of his grip.</p><p>Second wiving is an antiquated practice, relegating omegas to a lesser role than women in that they were used as breeding stock. The practice has largely fallen by the wayside. Will finds it absolutely disgusting, a legal loophole to treat omegas as objects to form alliances between already rich and powerful families. Over time, the second wife became a replaceable asset, their husbands refusing to bond with them in order to jump to the next available omega from a rich family. It was one of the reasons Will left his mother’s house, the practice being rife in the south. He refused to stoop to such a level of depravity, and he won’t be starting now.</p><p>“Oh no? But you would kill a man in the street?” Mason grins, feral, at Will’s shock. It takes him a second to gather his wits. Of course Verger knows about Clark Ingram, he’s the one who unofficially attempted to gift Will a permanent police escort.</p><p>“He was a murderer, Mr. Verger, and he attacked me. What would you have me do?” Will asks airily, yanking his hand free, “Good evening,” Will turns on his heel and marches away, back turned to the pernicious expression Mason directs his way.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>Will is two drinks deep, nursing his third and not sulking when Jack finds him alone.</p><p>“Never thought I’d see you here,” he says, his surprise evident. Jack takes in his appearance, contemplative, “You clean up nice.”</p><p>Will resists the urge to roll his eyes, “So do you,” he says instead, and it’s true. Jack cuts an imposing figure in his evening wear, entirely the man dedicated to catching the worst of the worst criminals. Will can almost picture him in the same revered light as the crusaders undoubtedly were, holy warriors set to reclaim sacred lands. The image falls flat, however, as Jack’s justice is being directed by a degenerate.</p><p>And yet, Jack persists, “You aren’t supposed to be alone.”</p><p>“I’m not,” Will frowns, lifting his glass for a sip. He really doesn’t appreciate the reminder that he’s technically under someone’s thumb.</p><p>Jack raises an unimpressed brow, “You did do what I told you, right Will?”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>, Jack, I did.” Will’s patience is fraying the longer this night continues.</p><p>In a stroke of luck, good or bad depending entirely on Will’s mood, Hannibal joins the conversation at his side, “Good evening.”</p><p>Jack’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull, and then they narrow in his typical dogged suspicion, “Jack Crawford,” he extends a hand.</p><p>“Hannibal Lecter,” he greets, “I would apologize for leaving you alone, Will, but I see you’ve found company on your own. I got caught up in a discussion with Professor Wilford.” Will nearly glares daggers at him.</p><p>“You’re a doctor?” Jack sounds positively astounded.</p><p>“Not yet,” Will says, and immediately regrets the slip. Jack darkens at his words.</p><p>“You sent your bodyguard to medical school?” he hisses.</p><p>“Yes,” <em>fuck this</em>, Will thinks venomously, downing his drink, “You and I both know I don’t need one, so let’s stop pretending otherwise.”</p><p>Jack’s upper lip lifts in a silent snarl, which Will leaves for Hannibal to bear as he turns to dispose of his glass. He turns back and fixes the brooding alpha with a forbidding set to his jaw.</p><p>“Don’t worry Jack, next time I’ll use a gun and be as untraceable as they rest this city’s sinners. Come Hannibal, we’re leaving.”</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>“I would apologize for cutting your evening short,’ Will bites as he starts to drive them home, “but it seems you had fun all on your own.”</p><p>Hannibal fixes him with a look, “You did not enjoy yourself.”</p><p>“Very perceptive of you, Hannibal,” Will spits.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Will.” Will nearly collides with another car.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I shouldn’t have left your side.”</p><p>“I’m fine without you,” Will doesn’t sound convincing, even to himself, “I don’t get along with people. I evidently don’t get along with your friends.”</p><p>Another look, this one radiating questions, “They’re not my friends.”</p><p>Will scoffs, but doesn’t explore the statement further. He parks the car, turning off the engine and slumps back into his seat. Hannibal waits quietly in the car with him, an unobtrusive and unexpecting presence.</p><p>Will rubs a hand over his face and tugs at the tight collar of his wraparound. “I shouldn’t be mad,” he starts softly, “I knew I wasn’t going to enjoy it.”</p><p>“If you knew, why did we go?”</p><p>Will looks over at Hannibal. How is he supposed to say that he went because it was something that could make Hannibal happy? That the entire ordeal in preparation for an evening out was Will’s attempt at eradicating the guilt and regret and <em>grief</em> from Hannibal’s eyes? That he had placed there? And now he’s added even more of the same, <em>so stupid Graham</em>.</p><p>Failing to come up with a reason he can actually speak out loud, Will just says, “It’s not your fault anyway,” and gets out of the car. He can’t deal with his feelings for Hannibal in the alpha’s presence. He’s not supposed to have any.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>The emergency line rings before the sun is up, but it doesn’t wake Will. He hasn’t slept.</p><p>It’s Alana again, and she’s out of breath. For a moment Will thinks she’s scared, but quickly realizes that she’s actually elated, buzzing.</p><p>“I didn’t-I didn’t need the drug,” she breathes a shaky laugh, “He came to me. I didn’t even have to- and <em>he came to me</em>.”</p><p>“Did he hurt you?” is Will’s immediate concern.</p><p>“Oh, n-no. It wasn’t fun, but no. I just can’t believe it.”</p><p>This is Will’s fault, yet again. His jab at Mason’s childless state, combined with his sister’s attempt at usurping him must have finally hit home.</p><p>“I couldn’t get him to sign the paper,” Alana realizes, coming down from the rush.</p><p>“I’ll deal with that, just-can you stay close to him, until you’re sure?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Good. Alana,” Will takes a deep breath, “Be careful.”</p><p>“I will.”</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>Will is unsurprised by the summons to Jack’s office, even less so to see Krendler as his catchpole yet again.</p><p>What does surprise him is Mason Verger’s presence at the precinct. And he looks ecstatic, grinning as Krendler goes to join him at another officer’s desk.</p><p>Jack brusquely motions for Will to follow him, and slams the door more than closing it behind Will. This must be a serious case for him to be so tense.</p><p>Before Will can even take a step further into the room, Jack speaks.</p><p>“The case against you is being reopened.”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Covenant</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>She wants him to realize something, something about the cards. He reaches for the card, snagging it from her to squint at it. He takes in details now, that he had merely glanced over before. The card is old, its ink faded in places but the depiction of the Tower is still clear enough to make out. He doesn’t understand what his grandmother is going on about, looking up at her again. She merely raises her brows, <em>see</em>, and he looks again.</p><p>“As above, so below,” Will had said with more fondness than cheek. </p><p>Hannibal had answered, “And beyond, I imagine.” It had startled a laugh out of Will. Always pushing the envelope.</p><p>Will rubs the paper between his fingers, and- oh.</p><p>  <em>Oh.</em></p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you're ready!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>Fear to walk down the aisle, feel the beat as you lead me on<br/>
From the sky to the mire, shame and pride are the seed of harm<br/>
Stand aside from the shadows, set your sight on the vein of life<br/>
Taste the blood of denial, blow the candle with rotten breath</p>
  <p>I am waiting to face the hunter, to feast on my<br/>
Flesh, torn asunder</p>
  <p>The sinner will die<br/>
Parading down through the misty light<br/>
He becomes the night<br/>
Upon the sacred and hallowed ground<br/>
Away from the sun, in holy halls within walls<br/>
Where the light won't reach down<br/>
You give your seed to the frail</p>
  <p>Seek advice from the elder, falling down on your knees repent<br/>
Be the crow and the angel, be my curse to the end of time</p>
  <p>Freedom lies in your own desires<br/>
Freedom lives in your will<br/>
Nothing's left as we're reaching higher<br/>
Lust is thicker than sin</p>
  <p>The sacred leaves on the trees of hope<br/>
Malice poisons our souls<br/>
A Wicked halo deprived of love<br/>
Slithering to the cross</p>
  <p>The sinner will die<br/>
Parading down through the misty light<br/>
He becomes the night<br/>
Upon the sacred and hallowed ground<br/>
Away from the sun, in holy halls within walls<br/>
Where the light won't reach down<br/>
You give your seed to the frail</p>
</div><p>-Covenant-Soen</p><p>**</p><p>“The case against you is being reopened.”</p><p>Will stills in the doorway. He slowly turns his head, regarding the grim line of Jack's mouth, the furrow in his brow. Jack meets his eyes, but before Will can decipher what lays in their depths, the door handle rattles behind him.</p><p>He knows who it is even before the door opens, and he moves out of the way with a lingering look at Jack.</p><p>“Mr. Graham! Fancy seeing you here.”</p><p><em>Bullshit</em>, Will thinks, turning to look at Mason, finally coming face to face with the dog handler seeking to collar him. Krendler enters the office behind him, a knowing little smirk on his face. Will would very much like to wipe it off on the floor.</p><p>The door closes with a click, and Will feels cornered by Mason’s laugh. It sends all the wrong kinds of shivers up his spine.</p><p>“Have you heard the news?” Mason asks, “Of course you have. Jackie boy here isn’t one to delay.”</p><p>Will expects Jack to snarl, or at the very least bristle, but the alpha just sinks down in his chair with a resigned air and stares through his desk. Mason must have him by the metaphorical balls, so Will snarls instead.</p><p>“Ooh,” Mason coos, “There’s that fatherly instinct! I knew you leased your stallion out to stud already, but that almost-family bond isn’t going to save you now. You see, Mr Graham, above your unsanctioned breeding, you’ve done in a number of my associates with your less-than-honest business, and I think it’s high time you’re brought to heel.”</p><p>Will clenches his jaw, eyes narrowing in on Mason’s smug face.</p><p>“We have a few mutual acquaintances, you and I. You remember Dr. Chilton, don’t you?” he takes a step closer.</p><p>Will’s mind stalls, and then works overtime. Mason knows Frederick? He knows Krendler, obviously. <em>Is there some sort of scumbag convention for Baltimore’s most notorious assholes that I don’t know about?</em></p><p>“Do you see where this is going?” Mason murmurs, his hot breath washing over Will’s face.</p><p>Will does, everything coming together in his mind. Mason must be behind Chilton’s altogether dubious instatement at Spring Grove. He sent Krendler to surveil Will at the bar so <em>he could get that fucking letter to Hobbs</em>.</p><p>Will barely restrains his fury, breaths falling fast and hard in his chest, hands curled into fists at his sides. Mason lets his eyes roam over Will’s face as he scents him, no doubt taking perverse pleasure in how his words are making Will boil.</p><p>“I don’t think you do, you don’t smell nearly scared enough,” Mason spins to lean on Jack’s desk like he owns it. He does, in almost every sense except on paper and it only serves to remind Will how alone he is in this moment. Even Krendler, where he’s leaning against the wall all puffed up, won’t lift a finger to stop this blatant corruption. Not that Will expects him to.</p><p>“First off, you kill my friend, and then smear his name. Tut-tut, Mr. Graham, we don’t speak ill of the dead. But I suppose I should forgive that, he did<em> attack</em> you after all,” Mason lifts a hand, holding up two fingers and then drops it, “Second strike, you send the police after a pillar of the community armed with nothing but rumors, and in so doing interrupt his delicate work within the minds of the mentally ill. Dr. Chilton did not deserve to be treated as a criminal. And thirdly, you threatened a civil servant and then beat him, in front of a crowd no less.”</p><p>Krendler lifts his lip at that, and Will wishes he’d not taken mercy on him that night in the ring.</p><p>“So, in light of this new evidence, I thought it prudent to have another look at what you profess to be self defense. You’ve proven yourself a dangerous individual, Mr. Graham, and your word can no longer be trusted.”</p><p>Will has managed to get his breathing under control, and in so doing, internalized his anger to such a degree that it morphs into that very same mind-clearingly cold fury he experienced because of Hannibal, more than half a year ago now.</p><p>“Nothing to say?” Mason taunts. He reminds Will of a little boy, pulling pigtails and whining on the playground, unsatisfied until he draws anguished cries. But Will spent his formative years perfecting his silence in the wake of provocation, and the years after that on how to use that stillness as a cloak. He won’t cave to a rich little shit on a power trip who thinks he can domesticate something altogether wild with a ruleset as flimsy as the law.</p><p>“I only have one question,” Will says, ignoring Mason in favor of looking Jack in the eye. He looks sad, but that’s his own fucking problem, “Am I under arrest?”</p><p>Jack at least has the decency to keep his eyes on Will as he works his jaw, weighing pros and cons of his myriad possible answers, “No.”</p><p>Will nods, heading for the door.</p><p>“Graham,” Jack calls, and Will stops with his hand on the door handle. Even Krendler freezes in his attempt to stop Will, “Don’t leave the state.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says airily, when he actually wants to bite out <em>fuck you, Jack</em>, and wrenches open the door. He lets it swing open behind him and, in tune with his previous visit to Jack’s office, the one where this all started, he heads for the phones. He picks up the same receiver as he did back then, and dials the same number.</p><p>“Did it work?” he asks in lieu of greeting.</p><p>“I’m not sure yet,” the voice sounds small.</p><p>“Do you still have what I gave you?” Will attempts to gentle his voice from its brusqueness.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Good. When you’re sure, give it all to him. And then you get the fuck out of the city.”</p><p>“Okay,” a bubble of silence in which Will turns over a phrase like a mantra, “Will?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Be careful.”</p><p>“No promises,” he says, and hangs the phone on its clip. He leaves the station, the mantra echoing in his mind like reverberations from a thunderstrike.</p><p>
  <em>Mason Verger will die.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p><em>Things come in threes</em>, Will thinks, putting down the phone in his office.</p><p>Firstly, Alana has safely made her way out of the city, leaving an unconscious Mason to the tender mercies of Will’s men, who have already snuck him away from his own entourage. They will follow Will’s instructions to the letter, and his disappearance will only be noted after he has been taken care of.</p><p>Secondly, Hannibal is home, has been for two days now and will be for at least a few more. So, he’s available for a road trip with Will.</p><p>And thirdly, the most surprising, considering it isn’t quite yet May, Will’s heat has started just in time for a little hunt.</p><p>Will finds Hannibal in his room, sketching. He freezes when Will’s scent reaches him, eyes wide as he takes him in. Will doesn’t miss the way his throat works, belying his nervousness now that Will is in heat.</p><p>“Are you particularly attached to what you’re wearing?” Will asks, surveying Hannibal’s practical grey suit. His shoes are less so.</p><p>“No,” Hannibal slowly lowers his pencil.</p><p>Will jerks his chin upward, “Put on some boots, and bring your coat to the garage.” He leaves before receiving an answer.</p><p>The motorbike is purring between his thighs when Hannibal arrives, buttoning his coat. He stops mid-motion, mouth parting slightly. Will hates how much he likes that expression, so he revs the engine loudly to shock the alpha into movement. Hannibal pulls gloves over his hands as he slips onto the bike behind Will.</p><p>“Hold on,” Will says, and starts to move, forcing Hannibal to grasp him around the waist. The motion presses the contents of his pocket into his side.</p><p>The bike is large, and powerful, all sleek black lines accented in silver. It’s more anonymous than Will’s car, and faster, getting them out of the city and onto the single lane road to Virginia in the blink of an eye. It rumbles like thunder under them, oblivious to Will’s disappointment that the wind is stealing Hannibal’s scent away from him. Will contents himself with the warm line of Hannibal at his back instead as he winds them through country roads, throwing mud up behind them until they reach a lonely little farm house.</p><p>Will idles the motorbike in the crisp air of the clouded spring afternoon as Hannibal alights himself. He cuts the engine and is tempted to grin in the sudden expectant silence that results. He doesn’t, just kicks the stand out and dismounts his iron steed. It will be here, patiently waiting until Will’s work is done.</p><p>He leads them up to the house, Hannibal's steps grinding faintly on the gravel behind him, then tapping on the wood of the porch steps. Will swings open the screen door and turns the handle to let himself in.</p><p>The house is silent, its large front room just as barren as the fields that surround it. It’s a relic from when Will still thought the quiet life was a possibility for him to live, and it’s been well maintained despite its unpopulated state. Now it’s going to serve an entirely other purpose, much more sinister than Will ever intended for it.</p><p>Will heads for the kitchen where he finds a single chair holding a body in its ropey embrace. The occupant jerks his bonds, and then laughs, a familiar grating sound that makes Will want to rip his throat out.</p><p>“I should have known it was you,” Mason says, “You were too quiet in Crawford’s office.”</p><p>Hannibal comes to stand at Will’s shoulder, frowning down at Mason where he twitches.</p><p>“This seems familiar, only the gift you gave me was both dressed up and dressed down at the same time,” Will murmurs, alluding to Matthew Brown’s corpse. He sees Hannibal flinch in his peripheral.</p><p>“And what is this, Will?”</p><p>“Yes, what is this?” Mason sneers, “You didn’t seriously have me kidnapped to get in my pants? What happened to not being a second wi-”</p><p>Will cuts him off with a gloved fist to the face, but it does little to shut the man up. He cackles as he brings his face back around, now with a smear of blood under his nose.</p><p>“I want you to listen very carefully, Mason-”</p><p>“Oh he speaks! And to me no less!”</p><p>Will slips his knife out, brandishing it in front of the lunatic’s face so his eyes catch on its reflective surface. It seems to sober him up. Then he takes the knife down to the ropes binding Mason to the chair, bringing himself close enough to get a whiff of him. He absolutely reeks, and all Will wants to do is sink his teeth into his flesh to silence him.</p><p>“I am going to cut you free, and you are going to run as far and as fast as you can. I am going to give you ten minutes before I come after you.”</p><p>“To fuck me?” Mason licks his lips, looking at Wil’s, “Or kill me?”</p><p>Will quirks his lips up in a smile, “Ten minutes Mason,” he starts cutting the ropes, and steps away once the alpha is free, “You better hope I don’t find you.”</p><p>Mason remains seated for a moment more, eyes flicking between Will and Hannibal a few times, and then he’s up out of the chair and through the back door, his tan coattails trailing.</p><p>“What is this?” Hannibal asks again, “Reciprocation? I was under the impression you were no longer sharing.”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t plan on starting now,” Will goes to stand at the kitchen counter, placing his knife down and pulling off his gloves. He takes the one that made contact with Mason’s face and brings it to his nose. The drop of blood on its knuckles is almost too small to see, but it's enough for Will to scent. It calls to him, to chase, and maim, and kill.</p><p>Will drops the glove and checks the contents of his coat’s inner pocket. He pulls his coat straight, turning to face Hannibal. He runs his shining eyes over Hannibal, lets the faint scent of alpha wash over him to stir electricity at the base of his spine.</p><p>“You were once so keen to provoke me into killing, so now you get your wish. I am going to let myself loose, let instinct take over,” Hannibal works his jaw. He knows Will is talking about a hunt, the most primitive of rituals with an appalling mortality rate.</p><p>“And if I leave?”</p><p>Will smiles amusedly at him, “I have the keys, Hannibal. You won’t get very far on foot. Besides, I don’t think you want to,” Will turns back to the kitchen counter, “It’s your choice whether or not you put yourself in my path out there, or in here. Just remember that it has bearing on my instinctual consideration of you, and therefore my decision on what to do with you.”</p><p>Will picks up his knife, closes it and slips it back into his pocket, “Your deadline is up, Hannibal,” and with that, he follows Mason’s fading scent out into the gloom, eyes gleaming.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>Every step he gives on the hard ground blooms up decaying leaves, the last winter snow already having melted. He immerses himself in the slide of air over his skin that gifts him the undiluted smell of running water. It’s on that thick air that he finds the anomaly, the stench that doesn’t belong in his woods, and he follows its faint trail.</p><p>Will is careful not to lose himself to the thrill of blood rushing in his ears completely. At least not just yet. He still needs something from the one he’s tracking.</p><p>He finds the fresh trail heading deeper into the trees, wavering on the sticky air, towards the lovely little stream that sold Will on this property in the first place. His quarry is hoping the water will hide his scent, and that the incline beyond the stream will slow his pursuer down.</p><p>But Will knows these woods, despite not seeing them for years. He finds Mason stumbling in the shadows of the oldest trees, their dead leaves cushioning his footfalls where they lay wet and rotting.</p><p>“I can smell you, omega!” Mason cries, flinging himself around in a bid to find Will. His coat flaps around him frantically, spreading the scent of sweat around, but there’s no hint of fear.</p><p>Will keeps to the darkness, his eyes better adapted to seeing in the sparse light of dusk than an alpha’s enhanced vision, and even more so during his heat. He treads carefully closer, not letting the alpha out of his line of sight.</p><p>Mason stills, sniffing the air and then bolts.</p><p>Will is after him in a flash, but he doesn’t expect Mason to pivot and lunge for him. They go down in a sprawl of snarls and limbs, ending on their sides with a hand wrapped around each other’s lapels. Mason shoves him down in the dirt with a growl, wriggling out of his own coat. He’s nearly on his feet when Will snags him by the hair, pulling him back to his knees.</p><p>Mason tries bending Will’s fingers backwards to release his hold, and Will snarls, wrenching his head to the side. He grabs Mason’s clawing hand in a steel grip at the same time as he bites into the exposed line of his neck. His teeth sink in, filling his mouth with blood, and his omega howls inside.</p><p>Mason slackens. Will digs his teeth in further, almost chewing for good measure, and Mason falls limp. He’s almost disappointed at the brevity of the chase.</p><p>Will holds Mason to his chest with his left arm, slowly extricating his teeth. The alpha groans.</p><p>“Hush,” Will murmurs, reaching into his inner pocket, “I need you to do something for me, alpha,” The words are bitter in his mouth, but despite the bite, Mason will still require prompting. The alpha makes a fussy noise, “Shh.”</p><p>Will shakes out the folds from a thick piece of paper and places it on the ground in front of them. He bites at the cap of a fountain pen and takes Mason’s dominant right hand in his own. He uses his grip on Mason’s fingers to secure the pen in his hold. Will bends them forward, placing the nub where he wants it.</p><p>“Can you sign here for me?” Mason whines, “Please, alpha.” A shudder travels lazily through the man in his hold, and Will places his lips back on the oozing bite mark he made, mouthing at it lightly. He’s getting impatient, the copper tang of blood spurring him on.</p><p>Sluggishly, Mason moves his hand in the approximation of his signature. “Good,” Will praises, “We’re nearly done.” He moves Mason’s arm in an arc to dispel the pen into the dark, then brings the man’s hand up to his mouth. He slices the pad of Mason’s thumb on one of his fangs and licks the blooming blood to spread. It's acrid, and he wants to spit but he persists, pressing Mason’s thumbprint into the paper, right next to Alana’s.</p><p>The marriage certificate disappears back into Will’s coat pocket just as quickly as it appeared, and he slides a hand back into Mason’s hair. Paperwork aside, Will sinks into his screaming instincts, emerging in the darkness.</p><p>With a growl, he twists until the alpha is lying supine, blinking dazedly up at the darkening sky. He makes an aborted attempt to roll away from Will, but slumps onto his back with a sigh.</p><p>It’s easier to give in to the bite, Will knows, those who attempt to resist can never do so for long, but he doesn't particularly care. Mason huffs and whines to no avail.</p><p>Will starts ripping Mason’s shirt, hands coming to an abrupt halt over the heaving chest as he hears the soft susurrus of clothes moving in the underbrush.</p><p>He slowly looks up, meeting Hannibal’s eyes. A low growl starts in his chest, his lip curls up in warning. This is his prize, and Hannibal wisely stops a distance away. Will is peripherally aware of the picture he makes, crouched over a splayed body with blood on his mouth like one of those vampires from Abigail’s silent films, dark coat spread like wings.</p><p>Satisfied that his warning has been heeded, he continues. He flips the shirt out of the way, the body under him shuddering in the cold. Will presses his face over the left pectoral, feeling a frantic heartbeat against his cheek. He ghosts a breath over where it thumps strongest, almost intimate in his exploration until he pulls his lips back and bites. Viciously.</p><p>Blood runs in droplets over Mason’s chest, turning into little rivers as Will chews. Hands come up slowly to push ineffectively at his face and he grabs them both, shoving them under his knees so he can carry on unencumbered.</p><p>Mason gasps, “You...you little…”</p><p>In the highly unlikely event that Mason survives this, his slurred speech would take a few days to recover, as well as his sluggishness to disappear. After that, he would be helpless to obey whatever it is Will asks of him. He’d join Abel in his state of inescapable complacency.</p><p>But Will doesn’t want another drudge; he wants a corpse.</p><p>Will tears through muscle until he can see the gleaming stripes of Mason’s ribs. He bites at one of them, growling as he attempts to rip it away with a shake of his head. Failing that, he holds the bone in his teeth and digs his fingers in beside his mouth. Mason makes a guttural sound deep in his chest, where Will can feel it vibrating as he snaps bone.</p><p>He spreads the ribs further, and Mason screams. Will puts a hand in his chest, cradles his still beating heart for a moment and then pulls it free. The alpha convulses once and then falls still.</p><p>Will gives into his omega and bites the heart. It’s warm and tough to chew, but it slides down his throat in a viscerally satisfying way. He’s eaten more than half of it when a slight breeze brings over another scent, warm and enticing.</p><p>Will can’t help himself, he’s so deep in his base self, he moans and ruts his hips down. He drops the half-eaten heart, arousal twisting its way around his vertebrae like a snake. It constricts almost painfully at his navel, raising his cock and spilling slick between his thighs. It’s so much more than he has ever felt.</p><p>Before he knows it, he’s pushed Hannibal up against the nearest tree, snarling. Hannibal very carefully does not meet his eyes, lifting his chin slightly up and away. It’s hardly a submissive gesture and he remains otherwise still for inspection. It’s <em>this</em> more than his deeply alluring scent that placates Will enough to step closer, to inhale at the junction of his jaw like a starving dog.</p><p>Hannibal is the most decadent thing he’s ever scented, warm and deep and rich like blood. His mouth waters, and not to bite. He presses an open-mouthed kiss under the alpha’s jaw, drawing a satisfied rumble from him. It sends a frisson of triumph through Will to have pleased his alpha so. He trails his tongue over Hannibal’s stubbled jaw to his mouth. They kiss tentatively, almost chastely, although it tastes like blood, and the haze of arousal threatens to overtake Will’s mind completely.</p><p>He slips his tongue into Hannibal’s mouth, the absolute heat of him making Will arch, wanton and desperate as he’s never been. The friction against his cock, and Hannibal’s, make them both gasp, breaking the kiss. Will snakes a hand into Hannibal’s hair, wrenching his head up to bare his neck again. His other hand moves seemingly of its own volition, targeting the buttons keeping their clothes together, separating them from each other.</p><p>Hannibal tentatively brings his hands up to Will’s shoulders, pushing, “Will, I-”</p><p>Will cuts him off with a growl, right under his ear. There are no words lurking in the dark red pulse of his animal mind, only need.</p><p>“We should move-”</p><p>Will punctuates his displeased growl by throwing Hannibal to his knees, keeping a hand in his hair. He kneels behind Hannibal, pushing his thighs apart with his own knees. He tugs at Hannibal’s coat and, after a moment of resistance, Hannibal acquiesces and throws the garment to spread out in front of him, much like Mason’s lifeless body a short distance away.</p><p>“Alright,” Hannibal finally sounds breathless, after all Will has done to him.</p><p>Will presses his nose into Hannibal’s hair, inhaling. He’s distracted by the sound of Hannibal opening his own fly, and he huffs a pleased groan into the skin behind Hannibal’s ear. He grips Hannibal by the hips with both hands, grinding against the rounds of his ass. It’s torture of the best kind, and Hannibal actually whines.</p><p>“<em>Please</em>, Will,” he presses back, shifting cruelly against Will’s aching arousal.</p><p>Will makes a short, frustrated growl, tugging at his own trousers until he’s bared himself. He hooks his chin over Hannibal’s shoulder, peering down at the alpha’s cock. The sight of its red, wet tip makes him moan, mouthing at Hannibal’s neck.</p><p>Will has enough presence of mind to know he can’t take Hannibal as is, though it’s fading fast in the wake of his loosened instincts. He reaches between his own thighs, gathers slick running there onto his own fingers. He brings his fingers to Hannibal’s hole, presses gently, spreading slick around before slipping a finger inside.</p><p>Hannibal burns his skin, unnaturally hot inside. Will huffs against his neck as Hannibal jerks, reaching back for Will but gets one hand tangled in Will’s coat, the other twisting to grip his curls. He snarls as he struggles, and Will slips another finger inside him.</p><p>Hannibal arches on a moan, tugging at Will’s coat in frustration. Will spreads his fingers in retaliation, making Hannibal hiss. He twists his hand around so his thumb can press behind Hannibal’s balls, and he has to move away from the alpha to get the correct angle. Hannibal snarls, attempts to twist but Will grabs him by his hair again as he spreads his fingers. The alpha is bent like a harp beneath his hands.</p><p>Will teases a third finger against Hannibal, waiting until he pushes back before slipping it inside. He curls his fingers down, and Hannibal shudders. He does it again, and again, until Hannibal growls, the thick musk of his arousal rising in the air.</p><p>Will twists his hand upright again so he can flatten himself to Hannibal’s back and run his teeth up the man’s neck. Hannibal shivers, but quiets down.</p><p>“Will, please,” he begs again, and it’s so sweet and eager, Will can hardly resist. He gently removes his hand from Hannibal to gather more slick from between his own folds, spreading it along his own cock.</p><p>He tucks his face in the crook of Hannibal’s neck, sliding cheek to sweaty cheek, inhaling the scent of sweat and blood and pure, animal want as he angles his cock. He presses in slowly, the suffocating heat enveloping his length making him gasp. Hannibal clenches around him, and Will barely has enough restraint to wait until he relaxes before pulling back and thrusting in again. Hannibal exhales as if punched, and Will thrusts again.</p><p>Will sets a languid rhythm, drawing delicious little gasps from Hannibal. Hannibal pulls both his fists with each thrust, one in Will’s hair, the other bunched in Will’s coat, and eventually Will runs out of patience with the constant tugging. He shoves Hannibal forward, face landing on his own coat for lack of hands to brace himself. Will doesn’t care.</p><p>Will removes Hannibal’s hand from his hair, twisting it behind his back and Hannibal cries out. Will tightens his grip on Hannibal’s hip, holding him steady as he speeds up. He’s almost too lost in his own euphoria to notice, but Hannibal has muffled his cries by biting down on the fabric under his face.</p><p>Will doesn’t think twice, just reaches down for Hannibal’s hair and wrenches, strands coming loose in his fist. Hannibal cries out, releasing the coat from between his teeth to free the noises Will draws from him into the air. Hannibal throws himself back on each thrust, spearing himself open on Will’s cock again and again and again.</p><p>Will’s knot tugs at Hannibal’s rim, not catching quite yet, but enough for Hannibal to feel. The alpha mewls, and before Will can gather enough of his wits to even think about asking, Hannibal answers, “Yes, yes, please, <em>please</em>.” He devolves into senseless begging, and it’s music to Will’s ears.</p><p>Will rears back, giving in to the urge to watch himself disappear into Hannibal. The sight of his halfway-inflated knot reappearing wet and glistening nearly undoes him. Hannibal snakes his free hand to his own front and he makes an absolutely wrecked sound as he presumably curls his fingers around his own knot. The display distracts Will long enough to thrust back inside before his knot inflates completely. He barely manages, Hannibal clamping viciously around him as he comes with a cry.</p><p>Will buries himself with one more push, his knot locking them together as he comes, surprising himself with the immediacy of his orgasm, shooting through his spine into his belly and cock simultaneously. He clamps down on nothing, and he sobs.</p><p>Will collapses onto Hannibal, pushing him flat to the ground. They lie there, panting and sated and warm beneath Will’s coat. Will slowly comes back into his own head, the thick fog of arousal lapping at the edges of his mind. He gently rolls them both onto their sides, hissing along with Hannibal as the action tugs at where they’re joined. They catch their breath together in the silence of woods at nightfall, smelling like each other and like the completely animal musk of sex.</p><p>“Did I pass your test?” Hannibal eventually asks.</p><p>Will grunts, “I’m not done with you yet,” he says from where he’s tucked his nose at the alpha’s nape.</p><p>Hannibal pauses, not exactly stiffening, but his limbs lose some of their post-orgasmic laxity, “Is that why you didn’t bond me?” he asks tentatively.</p><p>Will draws back slightly, regarding the alpha in his arms. Omegas typically perform the first mating bite, if the mating is truly consensual, but Will knows this isn’t always what happens. Hannibal wouldn’t force a bond, it would be <em>rude.</em></p><p>“Why do you think?” Will asks in lieu of answering.</p><p>Hannibal huffs, unimpressed.</p><p>“Think, Hannibal, what am I?”</p><p>It takes a moment, but Hannibal stills, his mind ticking loudly in the dark. He twists around to meet Will’s faint smile.</p><p>“I didn’t bond you because I don’t want an odalisque.”</p><p>Hannibal squirms, and Will grips him tighter. The alpha snarls, doubling down in his attempt at escape before going lax, chest heaving. Will holds him closer even when he relaxes, “Then what? What do you want?” Hannibal’s voice is pained.</p><p>Will shuffles until his mouth is at Hannibal’s ear, and he speaks softly, “I don’t want a bitch, Hannibal, I already have several. I told you before, I’m not going to bite you.”</p><p>Hannibal hisses, twisting viciously and growling. He spits something foreign, sounding suspiciously like a curse.</p><p>“Hannibal, Hannibal, hush,” Will whispers into his ear, holding him steady. Hannibal’s writhing makes him tense, muscles gripping Will’s still swollen knot. Will can’t stop it, he comes again, and Hannibal gasps at the sensation, heat spilling between them. Will clenches his jaw, shuffling his nose into the alpha’s hair as he groans.</p><p>“I am not your<em> bitch!</em> Why should I?”</p><p>“Because you’re my equal,” Will says, a little out of breath. He anticipates Hannibal going rigid in his embrace and continues regardless, “Just imagine, Hannibal, that everyone in the world has the ability to tie their soul to that of another, everyone except you, because you’re just that lucky,” Will’s voice is distant to hide his bitterness, “You don’t fall over yourself for a knot during your heat because you’re only satisfied by blood. For years you know you are alone, only able to perverse what should be a sacred bonding ritual into a method for control. So you cut your losses, make peace with the fact that you are to go through life alone.”</p><p>Hannibal breathes hard into the silence, his jaw clenched.</p><p>“A bond has never meant anything to me, because it can’t. I don’t scar, how can I bond?”</p><p>“I’ll renew it. Every night if I have to,” his voice is small, but sure in its conviction. The words strike Will at his very core. A bond might not hold significance for him, but it clearly does for Hannibal.</p><p>He tugs the alpha closer, grinding against him until he gasps and the tension drains from him. “You’re just perfect, aren’t you?” Will murmurs.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>There is a bed upstairs, with a dust sheet. The linens themselves smell faintly musty, but are otherwise clean. Will even has an extremely out of fashion set of spare clothes in the closet to replace his blood stained shirt with.</p><p>Hannibal finds an oil lamp somewhere, lighting it to emit a soft yellow light as Will tugs off his shirt and throws into the shadows the lamp can’t quite touch. Hannibal watches him from just beyond, his eyes two small yellow dots in the darkness as Will undresses completely. His trousers and underwear are a muddled heap on the floor, but his coat hangs pride of place on the door.</p><p>Hannibal doesn’t even blink, just regards Will with his mirror eyes and hard cock like a force of nature. Will doesn’t disagree, but he’d like his particular storm to suck Hannibal in. Will doesn’t let it show, but simply being in the same room as Hannibal, being able to scent him, is slowly driving him to a greater madness.</p><p>Finally, Hannibal tugs at his own clothes, letting them fall to the floor uncaring. He steps into the circle of light, revealing slight apprehension to Will with wide eyes, as well as the absolutely decadent lines of his body. Will eyes the thick cock lying half-hard against Hannibal’s thigh. It’s a promise and a temptation, one Will is uncharacteristically willing to allow to breach him. Because, <em>gods</em>, he’s finally found the one person he doesn’t want to make bleed.</p><p>Hannibal lifts a tentative hand, brushing fingers along the curve of Will’s neck. Will turns up his jaw and hums. Hannibal parts his lips with his tongue, leaving them glistening as he takes a breath, dropping his hand.</p><p>Will takes a step back towards the bed and Hannibal lifts his lip, revealing fangs. Will shivers. He shoves Will backwards, violently, and Will snarls right back at him. He tugs Hannibal after him and they both tumble onto the bed. Will arches against the coarse curls across Hannibal’s chest, spreading his legs.</p><p>Hannibal settles so well between them, Will’s breath catches, and then Hannibal is on him, devouring his mouth. He covers Will like a blanket, scent enveloping and licking at the seam of Will’s lips until he’s let in. Will gives up any thought of resistance, letting himself be carried by pure sensation. The wet slide of a tongue against his teeth, the grip of strong hands on his sides, hard enough to leave bruises. Will wants them to, begs for them with little sounds that Hannibal swallows immediately. Hannibal’s erect cock slides smoothly along his thigh, so close yet so far from where Will<em> wants</em> him.</p><p>He claws his hands down Hannibal’s broad back, feeling muscle move under the skin. Will curls his legs around his hips and throws his head back as a hot mouth works down his jaw to his chest in a line. Hannibal bites gently at a nipple, making Will hiss.</p><p>Will can feel him smiling against his skin, so he twists both hands in Hannibal’s hair and drags him back up to look into his red eyes, “You better fuck me soon.”</p><p>Hannibal growls at him in response, and Will growls right back, “<em>Now</em>, Hannibal. Before I change my mind.” It's an empty threat, and they both know it.</p><p>“Yes, Will,” Hannibal says, and then he’s right there where Will is open and wet and empty. His cockhead touches Will first, broad and slick, and Will huffs. Hannibal slides in slowly, so slowly, Will whines.</p><p>He pulls the alpha into a filthy kiss, licking behind his teeth in a bid to make him inch in faster. There’s an overwhelming feeling of rightness as Hannibal finally settles inside him, and Will cannot fathom how he’s lived without it for so long. He bites at Hannibal’s bottom lip, pulling it as he breaks the kiss to snarl, “Move,” and tilts his pelvis up.</p><p>Hannibal pulls his hips back, leaving Will bereft for just a second, but it’s a second in which he aches. Then he thrusts in, and Will throws his head back and moans. It isn’t long before he loses himself in their combined scent, the delicious slide of Hannibal inside him. He vaguely becomes aware of Hannibal’s voice after a while, forming words.</p><p>“...so good, Will-”</p><p>Will only catches the end of what Hannibal says before he cuts him off, growling deep in his chest, “Stop playing around. I told you to <em>fuck me.</em>”</p><p>Hannibal doesn’t pause, just rears back so he’s sitting on his haunches, dragging Will along by the hips. His grip is menacing, and between one thrust and the next, he angles his cock to strike even deeper and <em>fucks</em>.</p><p>Will shudders, fisting his hands in the sheets. His pleasure builds steadily, centered deeper within himself than before, and it is both terrifying and exhilarating in it’s potential. He doesn’t want it to end at the same time that he does, just so it can begin again, the crest reaching higher and higher with no end in sight. It’s nearly painful, and he can’t help the breathy sounds that come from his mouth.</p><p>They change into short moans, loud and startling as Hannibal’s knot tugs at him. The momentum builds, the anticipation of being full shaking loose something fundamental inside him, and before Will can stop himself, he’s pulled Hannibal flat onto himself, clawing into his sides.</p><p>“<em>Hannibal</em>,” he gasps, and Hannibal’s knot slips inside him and back out again, almost but not yet quite full enough to lock. Will’s eyes roll back in his head, wailing, and Hannibal shoves in for a final time.</p><p>There’s a sharp sting at his clavicle, pleasure-pain blurring together acutely. His entire being clenches, this time <em>around something</em> and it brings tears to his eyes. There’s a new space blooming in his mind, and he knows it’s Hannibal there, just as surely as he knows the velvety skin of Hannibal’s knot is buried so deep inside him, Will is going to smell of him for days.</p><p>“Oh, oh fuck, Hannibal!”</p><p>Hannibal hisses where he’s pressed his open mouth against Will, warm puffs of breath glancing off Will’s skin. Will’s own cock lies spent between them, his release tacky between their bellies.</p><p>“You’re so deep,” Will whispers in wonderment.</p><p>Hannibal slowly extricates himself from where a bottom canine snagged in Will’s flesh, spilling blood. He licks at the cut in time to the slight rocking of his hips, spilling inside Will again.</p><p>It takes several long minutes for his breath to catch, lying heavy atop Will. When it does, he draws back to peer at Will, a little lost inside his own pleasure.</p><p>“Good boy, Hannibal, doing what you’re told,” Will says, not unkindly, at Hannibal’s slightly slack-jawed expression. He gasps as Hannibal moves his hips, tugging his knot against Will.</p><p>Hannibal regains composure with remarkable speed, “I’m not done with you yet,” he repeats Will’s own words back at him. A terribly sly bloodstained grin splits his face, and Will feels his heart catch and then thrum. It takes a few moments for him to realize the soft rumbling in the air around them is coming from deep inside his own chest.</p><p>He’s purring.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>Will takes the evening train from Penn station to New Orleans, arriving just after lunchtime the following day. Gideon goes with him. With each clack of the wheels on the rails, the ache in the pit of him grows as he moves away from Baltimore, from Hannibal. He catches himself glancing at his watch several times as the day progresses steadily down the coast.</p><p>They take a cab through the city and out into the countryside, affording Will a glimpse of the spaces he used to occupy. The memories are bittersweet at first, seeing a spectre of himself running down the sidewalk, all gangly limbs and carefree laughter as he races the other boys down to the docks where his father is. All of that vanished when he’d presented, and his mother had come to claim him.</p><p>Will knew she didn’t do it out of any parental obligation, or she wouldn’t have let him grow up a street rat in the first place. She did it because, when he presented, Will was suddenly useful in her political games. She’d tried teaching him highbrow ways, and he’d learned out of some misguided attempt to please her, but it all fell apart when she tried making him participate in the debutante ball.</p><p>And now Will is riding up to a house he hasn’t been in since he was sixteen, to see a family he was never really a part of. He remembers his mother crying, big crocodile tears as he’d walked down the drive with nothing but the clothes on his back, and his little notebook, to find his destitute father. He’d saved some money, enough to get him into the academy, but they too sent him on his way, penniless, hopes dashed. The pain of the decimated past is enough to supersede the dull ache he carries, and steadies him against the hostility he knows is coming.</p><p>The cab drops them just outside an impressive wrought-iron gate, leaving them to walk up the broad path to the front door. The trees lining it have grown thick over the years, their branches casting wide swathes of shade.</p><p>A doorman greets them at the house, and a servant girl meets them in the parlor, curtsying. The whole performance leaves an oily-slick ill feeling on Will’s skin and before she can take Will’s coat, a familiar voice jeers from the top of the stairs.</p><p>“What are <em>you</em> doing here?”</p><p>“Hello, brother,” Will pans. The servant girl fidgets.</p><p>Will looks at his brother for a long moment, face carefully neutral as the alpha makes his way down the stairs. They look almost nothing alike, save for their eyes. That they both inherited from their mother, but Luke is fair where Will is dark, carrying the characteristic La Fontaine yellow hair.</p><p>“Abel,” Will says, not looking away from his brother, and Luke smirks, “You can wait here, or in the kitchen.”</p><p>Abel ducks his head, following the servant girl out of the parlor.</p><p>“Finally desperate enough to come crawling back,” Luke muses, smirk growing.</p><p>Will sighs, “I’ve come to settle things, Luke, and to say goodbye,” Will says the last part over his brother’s shoulder, to his mother standing in the door behind him.</p><p>“Will,” she breathes, “It’s good to see you.”</p><p>Will makes a pained smile, more of a grimace, and his face twitches, “Is it?” he asks.</p><p>His mother drops her eyes, guilt uglying her features for a moment before she regains her composure, “Well, don’t dally, come in. Luke, let him pass,” she scolds.</p><p>Will doesn’t wait for the alpha to step aside, moving around him smoothly to follow his mother into the living room. It’s airy and light and exactly as he remembers it.</p><p>“Won’t you sit, Will?” she asks when she takes a seat on one of the ornate couches, but Will doesn’t.</p><p>“Stop,” Will says, “This isn’t a social visit.”</p><p>Hurt crosses his mother’s face, and she bites at her bottom lip. She’s always been coy, and wily, the false innocence she carries having served her well in her schemes.</p><p>“You’re a lot more serious than I remember,” Luke says, coming around from the door to join his mother on the couch. He spreads his arms wide along the back, comfortable in his confidence as the alpha of the house. He’s taken up his father’s mantle well.</p><p>“My line of work doesn’t often lend itself to foolishness,” Will quips blandly.</p><p>“And what line is that? Hooking?”</p><p>“Luke!”</p><p>“I’m sorry mother,” he says without remorse, “but what am I supposed to think? Will is being vague, almost deliberately so.”</p><p>Will tucks his hands into his pants pockets, shifting his unbuttoned coat backwards far enough to expose his occupied shoulder holsters. <em>How’s that for deliberate</em>, he thinks as Luke’s eyes go wide.</p><p>His mother straightens where she sits, and her voice is soft as she asks, “You said you came to say goodbye?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Will blinks, taking in her feigned apprehension, “Honestly? Because you are a blind spot, one I should have dealt with a long time ago. Someone might find out and think to use you against me, in the hopes that I care enough about you to give in to demands. I don’t.”</p><p>Luke frowns, angry, “You can’t just-”</p><p>“I can do what I damn well please,” Will doesn’t raise his voice, just hardens his tone, “If, by any chance, I am in anyone’s will, have me removed.”</p><p>Luke sneers, “And what makes you think you are?”</p><p>Will fixes his brother with a cold stare, eyes flashing blue-white and Luke freezes. He’s just over a year older than Will, but a combination of his lifestyle and Will’s preternatural being makes Luke seem that much older.</p><p>“Absolutely nothing. I’m not interested in your father’s slave money, it’s dirty pocket change to me.”</p><p>Luke’s eyes bulge at the insult, jumping to his feet.</p><p>“I was never anything to you,” Will continues as though his half-brother isn’t a second away from punching him, speaking to his mother, “unless you could use me. We are not family.” His voice turns bitter towards the end despite his best effort to remain indifferent.</p><p>“Damn straight,” a voice calls from the doorway. Three heads turn to regard the figure there, and Will’s heart releases a constricting band he was unaware of. He’d tried so hard not to get his hopes up, taking into consideration the years he hasn’t been home. But there she stands, grizzled and bent and very much alive.</p><p>“Hi, Grandma,” Will feels his mouth turn up into a small smile, the first for the day.</p><p>“You scoundrel,” she says, fond, and returns the smile. She waves her cane at Luke and his mother, “Get out, I want to speak to Will alone.”</p><p>“Mother-”</p><p>“If this is the last time I am to see my grandson after you told me he was dead,” she glares, “it will be without your interrupting.”</p><p>Will raises his brows in surprise, so <em>that’s</em> why his letters went unanswered. Eventually he stopped writing. Luke and his mother leave with petulance, his grandmother taking Luke’s vacated seat. Will sits across from her, a low table spanning the space between them.</p><p>“They told you I was dead?”</p><p>“Never believed them, but I couldn’t prove them wrong. You took my cards.”</p><p>Will grins, “You gave them to me.”</p><p>His grandmother narrows her eyes at him, then taps a nail on the tabletop, “I know they’re here, boy.”</p><p>Will reaches into his inner pocket, obediently handing over the cherished cards. She almost snatches them from him, her arthritic hands seemingly regaining their youthful vigor as she shuffles them, one card at a time disappearing to the front of the deck. The motion is repetitive and familiar to Will, and so is her speaking to him while her hands work, “Are your teeth blunt?”</p><p>Will frowns, “No.”</p><p>“Then why bring your friends?” she gestures to his holsters.</p><p>“Because teeth aren’t always fast enough. And oftentimes too personal.”</p><p>She regards him with a hard stare, flips over a card and looks at it. She grunts, apparently having found an answer to a question she never asked out loud. She tucks the card back in the deck, shuffling some more until she stops, flipping over another card to peer at it critically.</p><p>“Where did you get this?” she frowns up at him.</p><p>Will knows she’s found one of the cards Hannibal gave him. “A friend,” he says, omitting everything else Hannibal is to him.</p><p>Will’s grandmother narrows her eyes at him, “And where did <em>your friend</em> get them?”</p><p>Will shrugs, nonplussed. His grandmother raises her cane from the floor and smacks him over the head, “Ow!”</p><p>“Stupid boy! I taught you better than this!”</p><p>Will glares at her, rubbing over his crown. She wants him to realize something, something about the cards. He reaches for the card, snagging it from her to squint at it. He takes in details now, that he had merely glanced over before. The card is old, its ink faded in places but the depiction of the Tower is still clear enough to make out. He doesn’t understand what his grandmother is going on about, looking up at her again. She merely raises her brows, <em>see</em>, and he looks again.</p><p>“As above, so below,” Will had said with more fondness than cheek.</p><p>Hannibal had answered, “And beyond, I imagine.” It had startled a laugh out of Will. Always pushing the envelope.</p><p>Will rubs the paper between his fingers, and- oh.</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>Will’s mouth goes slack. These cards weren’t bought, they were inherited. And then given to him.</p><p>One of the oldest and most serious of courting traditions involves the gifting of a heirloom, to symbolize the union of blood. Often it is a collar, usually that of the alpha’s dam, but any family relic would do. These must be all Hannibal had left from his life before the war. <em>And he gave them to Will.</em></p><p>“For fuck’s sake, Hannibal,” Will growls, standing to pace across the carpet. He tugs at his hair, nearly dropping the card.</p><p>Hannibal fucking <em>proposed</em> to him, the old-fashioned bastard.</p><p>The revelation blanks his mind into a tailspin, and he almost misses his grandmother’s smirk.</p><p>“I need to get back to Baltimore,” Will says. He sounds panicked to his own ears.</p><p>“I know,” she stands, shuffling over to where Will stands distressed and hands him back the cards, “but before you go.” He tucks them back into his pocket, safe.</p><p>She doesn’t say anything else, just walks to the doorway. She’s always been cryptic in her thinking, and Will is gratified to see nothing much has changed. “Come back in here, you eaves-dropper.”</p><p>Will’s mother appears in the doorway, meek. She doesn’t step far into the room and doesn’t meet Will’s eyes, wringing her hands.</p><p>“Oh, give it to him, you silly girl,” his grandmother scolds, and his mother nearly jumps out of her skin. She gives her mother a displeased look.</p><p>“It’s mine.”</p><p>“You forfeited that right the day you left your son,” his grandmother spits.</p><p>Will’s mother closes her eyes for a moment, taking a steadying breath. She reaches around her neck, to the clasp of her necklace. She unfastens it, drawing the delicate chain out from where it was tucked into her dress and rolls something off it. She steps up to Will, taking one of his lax hands in hers and presses something to his palm. She holds his hand fast, searching his eyes, “I’m sorry, Will.”</p><p>She trails her fingers over his wrist as she steps away. And then she is gone.</p><p>It’s still warm from where it was pressed to her skin, and when Will opens his hand, he finds a ring in his palm.</p><p>It’s too large for a woman's hand, shining silver the way Will's eyes sometimes gleam.</p><p>Will draws the only conclusion he can; this must have been his father's.</p><p>Will looks at his grandmother, his insides in utter turmoil. It must show on his face, for she smiles softly at him, “Go back to your love, Will.”</p><p>He nods, clenches a fist around the ring, “Thank you.”</p><p>Will collects Gideon in the foyer, and doesn’t look back as they head down the same path that led them to the house. Will does look at his watch, noting that if they hurry, they might just catch the evening train back home.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>Will kisses Hannibal when he arrives home, wearing three-day-old clothes and an unwashed face, the ring burning him through his pocket. Hannibal kisses him back with just as much fervor, both uncaring that they’re being watched.</p><p>Will can feel the surprise radiating from the few men gathered around them. Good, Will thinks, this way the news will spread faster. Let it be known that Will Graham has taken an alpha.</p><p>If she were here, Abigail would no doubt have hollered.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>Will hasn’t seen Hannibal this morning, the alpha having perfected his silent creeping from their bed in the few short weeks they’ve shared the same room.</p><p>It’s no matter, Will is going to see him this afternoon at the ceremony, he can wait. His omega doesn’t believe him though, coiling inside his chest in displeasure at being able to scent their alpha, but not touch him. Or taste him. Gods, the way he tastes…</p><p>Will shakes himself from falling into the trap of daydreaming about Hannibal and starts dressing for the day. He chooses a light blue wraparound, knowing Hannibal will appreciate how it brings out his eyes. Will has worn a wraparound several times since returning from New Orleans, and always on Hannibal’s request.</p><p>He’ll give Hannibal anything, so long as he asks. But today, Will is going to be the one asking, and it makes him uncharacteristically nervous. He’s going about it in an entirely untraditional way, giving what could be considered a family heirloom to Hannibal in return, but Will gave convention a double fingered gesture a long time ago.</p><p>He pushes all thoughts of his plans from his mind, concentrating on finishing up the day’s business in a timely fashion.</p><p>He wouldn’t want to be late to his boy’s graduation.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>The ceremony is beautiful, if a little long-winded for Will’s tastes. He meets Hannibal’s eyes from the crowd, making his own shine so his alpha can find him immediately. Hannibal receives his degree with grace, as well as several other awards for academic excellence. Will doesn’t find it surprising, but bubbles over with pride nonetheless.</p><p>He finds Hannibal in the crowd, after. He’s unsurprised to see him surrounded by his peers, and this time they part respectfully for him. Will ignores them, only having eyes for Hannibal.</p><p>They stand close, sharing breath and Hannibal seems taller in his sharp suit and academic dress. Will finds the cap and cape getup ridiculous, but Hannibal pulls it off. They stare at each other, hands wrapped around the other’s elbows, and Will knows it’s time, before he loses his nerve.</p><p>He reaches into his pocket, breaking eye contact. He clutches at the ring, heart hammering like a frantic bird against his ribs. He glances at Hannibal, licking his lips.</p><p>Hannibal tilts his head slightly to the side, animal and in control. It’s infuriating, and solidifies Will’s resolve.</p><p>“Doctor Lecter,” he starts.</p><p>“Mister Graham,” Hannibal says, one corner of his mouth turning up teasingly.</p><p><em>Oh, fuck you</em>, Will thinks fondly. He takes Hannibal’s hand, slipping the ring over his finger.</p><p>“I know you technically asked me first, but you never said the words,” Will pauses, taking a steadying breath. He looks up into Hannibal’s honeyed eyes, “Will you marry me?”</p><p>Hannibal goes stiff, his mouth parting a second later. He doesn’t say anything for a long minute, eyes flicking over Will’s face and he starts to panic in the back of his mind.</p><p>Faster than he can anticipate, Hannibal has him wrapped tightly in his arms and is kissing him breathless. Their tongues meet, entirely inappropriate for such a prestigious event, and Will is peripherally smug about corrupting Doctor Propriety to such a degree.</p><p>“Come with me,” Hannibal says against his lips, both of them panting, and leads Will away from the crowd-covered lawn and deeper into Johns Hopkins, nearly crushing his hand.</p><p>He drags Will around corners and under archways. It’s a beautiful school, and Will is sure he would appreciate the masonry if his mind wasn’t occupied with the fact that <em>Hannibal hasn’t given him an answer.</em></p><p>Hannibal stops them in a dark alcove, safe from any prying eyes that might not be at the ceremony or otherwise working in the hospital. He presses Will up against the stone wall and melds their mouths together again, kissing Will like he’s never going to see him again. It tugs at Will’s heartstrings, this urgency, but he’s<em> dying</em>. He needs to know Hannibal’s answer, more than he needs to breathe.</p><p>Will breaks the kiss, shoving his nose into the skin at the crook of Hannibal’s jaw, “Hannibal-”</p><p>“Oh, please, <em>please</em>,” Hannibal begs, mouthing behind Will’s ear and down his neck to the collar of his wraparound. He pulls Will against him with an arm around his middle, the other hand threading through Will’s hair and Will is seized. If he regrets this in future (which he knows is ridiculous, but emotions aren’t rational), it won’t take long for Hannibal’s mark to fade from his skin, but he suspects the mental wound won’t ever go away. But what is better, to have had and lost, or never to have had at all?</p><p>“Yes,” Will says without thinking, both hands coming up to work the buttons keeping his skin covered. Once bared, Hannibal tugs the wraparound open further and places his hot mouth over the curve where shoulder meets neck. Will can feel the edges of his teeth, and Hannibal doesn’t move beyond pressing them to his skin.</p><p>Will growls, “Hannibal-”</p><p>Teeth cut through skin, and Will writhes. Hannibal holds fast, deepening the bite and the scent of blood fills the small space between them, along with Will’s gasps. It should be painful, he knows it should, but the bite sends stripes of pleasure along his nerves and before he knows it, his cock is straining against his trousers, pressing against the thigh Hannibal placed between his own. A small spot of slick gathers at the friction too. He can feel Hannibal’s answering erection against his own hip.</p><p>When Hannibal disentangles his jaw, Will is nearly breathless with need. Hannibal licks over the cuts spilling blood, spreading spit along the marks and Will feels a rift splitting in his mind. It coils against him, warm and pulsing in time with Hannibal’s purrs.</p><p>“<em>Oh, Hannibal</em>,” Will keens, “Do you feel that?” he asks, brushing his mind against the new split in his consciousness.</p><p>Hannibal’s voice is absolutely wrecked as he confesses, “I can feel you, but it’s blunted.”</p><p>He sounds bereft, and Will suddenly can’t have that. He yanks at Hannibal’s tie, his shirt, sending buttons careening around them as he pushes it open, Hannibal’s graduation gown slipping off one shoulder. He grabs Hannibal’s head, angling it so he can reach the same curve Hannibal did, and bites down.</p><p>Thick blood spills into his mouth, and suddenly the rift tears until Hannibal is everywhere inside him, wrapping around his heart, spreading rich darkness in his blood.</p><p>“Yes, Will. <em>Yes</em>,” Hannibal whispers to him, and it doesn’t matter that there’s a traitor in his house, that his pack has lost cherished members. It doesn’t matter that he’s just eliminated a threat and yet so many remain. All that matters is that Will finally has his answer, and he has Hannibal too.</p><p> </p><p>***</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, funny thing about the cards Hannibal gave Will. Some of the oldest surviving tarot cards come from the Visconti-Sforza collection which coincidentally doesn't contain the Tower. But this is my universe *maniacal laughter*.<br/>Come yell at me on <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/heavymetalhannigram">tumblr</a> or in the comments, I'd love to hear from you! And please go give <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28931154">kishafisha</a> some love!<br/>If you like these songs, Soen has a new album out!</p>
        </blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
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        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28931154">Art Inspired by MarcelWorldsmith’s “7empest”</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/kishafisha/pseuds/kishafisha">kishafisha</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
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